Paramnesia
by Josephinee
Summary: This had to be déjà vu. And not the fun kind either. Sequel to Chronicles
1. One

* * *

Yes. I finally started the sequel of Chronicles. It'll be alike and different at the same time, and I hope I won't disappoint you all.

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended. Everything recognisable belongs to JK Rowling.

* * *

**ONE**

"Albus, seriously! Hurry up!"

I bang my fists against the bathroom door, urging my best friend slash cousin slash womanizing bastard to get his business done. What is taking him so long anyway? He's a _boy_, for Merlin's sake. They're supposed to brush their teeth, and, well, stop at that point. Maybe shave and change underwear – acceptable – but other than that?

Please.

Unless you live alone, a girl _always_ deserves The Bathroom Time in the morning.

"Man," I hear him muttering from the other side, "if I'd known you'd act like _Lily_ all the time, I would've never agreed to share a dorm with you."

"Yes, I get it. You hate me." I roll my eyes, even though he can't me. "Now get the fuck out. I _won't_ be late for my first class!"

"Who cares? It's all just introduction anyway," Albus remarks annoyingly.

Ah.

Albus Severus Potter, the ever-so academic soul of the family.

Sighing, I start tapping my foot impatiently. Reminding myself that I love my cousin and therefore, do not benefit from strangling him with my bare hands, I try to transform my irritation into positive energy. It's my first day at the very prestigious London Wizarding University (L.W.U. for short) and I oughtn't spend it with a smile painted downwards and a near-stroke from not being able to brush my hair in the morning. It took a lot of effort to stand here, at this very spot, so I'm not going to let Albus and his childish antics ruin it for me.

(Although, I will have a lot of fun later, letting him make up for this by buying me chocolate frogs.)

When after another five minutes of waiting in anticipation Albus still doesn't give a sign of leaving the bathroom, I say casually: "You know, you may think that running your hands through your hair seventy times in front of the mirror will make it look better, but you're wrong. The only thing you're doing is making it all the more greasy."

"Blah, blah, blah," comes from the enemy, "keep whining and I'll keep this door closed forever."

"Good thing I don't know twenty times as much Alohomora variations," I reply cruelly.

Fortunately, the door then opens.

"You're a smart-ass," Albus grins The Lopsided Grin, "you're lucky I love you."

Albus Potter is what you would call the type to get everything handed on a platter. Not a silver one, because aunt Ginny and uncle Harry don't tend to spoil him, but a platter all the same. His last name helps him a great deal, but it are his looks that basically pave the way. He's got this messy sort of raven hair, tanned skin, dark eyes. He hasn't got what you call a perfect face, but he's so heart-wrenchingly charming with his dumb smiles and his easygoing manners all the girls fall in love with him all the same. Although his Quidditch talent as a Seeker (thanks, Harry!) don't hurt either. It's what got him into this place too. I'm here for studies, he's here to play for the L.W.U. Quidditch team.

All anger melting like snow exposed to a heat wave, I can't help but smile a little. "Great."

As I walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, the voice of the mirror rings through the room. "Are we ready for a fresh start?"

I stare at my reflection. My curly locks are still red as fire, my eyes are still blue as the ocean. I'm still freckled, as a trademark for the Weasleys, and my lips are still plump. I look like I've always looked, which is not a bad thing. I didn't dye my hair, get a tan, or get taller. I'm not seventeen anymore, but that's about it.

Fresh start?

I applied for a spot in this University at the end of my seventh year at Hogwarts. I had to take an exam, which I studied for day and night, and which I passed with flying colours. They sent me a perfectly white owl, reporting they'd love to have a student like me in their courses, and that my test results were very rare. Needless to say, I partied for a week after that. Not really responsible for a future Healer, but hell. I got into the L.W.U., you know? For the first time in my life I felt like I'd actually achieved something – never mind all the prefect and Head Girl stuff in Hogwarts. This was the real deal.

This _is_ the real deal.

The thing about the L.W.U. is that it's really nothing like my old school. It's a lot more modern, and not all of the facilities are housed under the same roof. The university consists of a couple different buildings. Each department (Healing Degree – Law Degree – Management Degree – Historical Degree) has its own complex, and then there are the dorm houses. They are usually strictly divided into a female and male section, but exceptions can be made if the parties are blood-related (and sporting the family names 'Weasley' or 'Potter'.) Furthermore there is of course the Quidditch stadium, which is a lot fancier than the Quidditch field in Hogwarts. L.W.U. has its own professional team, which Albus is a part of. In that light he's not actually a student – more of an employee – but as long as you live here, you are still bound to the rules regarding the dorms. Shame for him.

Wondering how my journey here will turn out, I start getting ready. Putting on a low-waist jeans (Lily: "Your figure is _made_ for these type of trousers!") and an emerald, silk, short-sleeved blouse (Louis: "Show some cleavage, love. The Weasley girls are nothing if not attractive!") under my obligatory school robe, I keep looking at myself in the mirror.

"Yeah," I say eventually. "I'm ready for a fresh start."

* * *

"Man, we're like celebrities already!"

Albus looks around ostentatiously, taking in all the glances we're receiving as he walks me to my first class. He's not lying. In Hogwarts people were used to the fact that we're the children of the people that indirectly saved their lives, but that'll probably take a while to happen here. Everyone's obviously whispering and pointing at us, but I can't bring myself to either mind or drink it in. Albus, on the other hand, clearly enjoys the attention (which he'd receive anyway, Potter or not) and throws in a few winks here and there for good measure. Linking his arm in mine to prevent him from running off to some random girl, I make a tssk'ing sound.

"Savour it for as long as it lasts."

"Pessimist. Merlin, would you just look at these girls... they're like – "

"Older than you? Yes, wonderful."

"Like that matters," Albus snorts. "Age is just a number."

I regard him with a pointed look. "That sounded _almost_ profound."

"It _is_ pro – hey, Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Look over there. Is that...?"

I follow his orders and turn my head over to the direction he's currently nodding at. When I see who he sees, I try to keep the spaghetti I ate yesterday down my stomach. I make my finest attempt to not let my jaw drop to the floor, and it takes all of my willpower to not Avada myself right here. Albus puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I'm too frozen up to react. My brain has suddenly come to a standstill, simply because I have such a hard time convincing myself that what I'm seeing is reality, and not some delusion from not sleeping enough. Or something.

"You've got to be bloody kidding me."

This must be _amrak_ or _marka_ or whatever anagram for _karma_ fits, because this _has_ to be work from the gods.

Violetta Chang does not just appear on the campus of L.W.U.

She does _not_.

"Perhaps somebody put LSD in your drink," Albus offers feebly.

"Which drink? I haven't had one this morning," I say through gritted teeth, watching how the, unfortunately pretty, bane of my existence sweeps her now cut shorter black hair over her shoulder. She's standing in the centre of a group of boys and girls, giggling like the airhead she is. Although, technically speaking, that last part isn't entirely accurate. Violetta has got a few brain cells stocked in that stupid head of hers, she just doesn't know how to _use_ them. Except for the time she applied to get in this university, apparently.

I mean, come on.

This is just _preposterous_.

"How did she get in?" Albus asks, voicing my thoughts.

I shrug. "She was still a Ravenclaw. Hopefully she's not in the Healer department."

"Maybe she's being trained in the Escort department?"

I chuckle. "Everyone has their talents."

"That you could say," he smiles at me. "Come on, I'll take you to class."

* * *

When we find the reasonably small auditorium, Albus wishes me good luck and leaves. It's like being eleven all over again – except without the support of my family. I'm an independent girl, sure, but come to think about it, I've never been really _alone_. In Hogwarts I had Louis with me in Ravenclaw, and my brother and the rest of my cousins in other houses. Today, however, Albus is the only one of my family members on this campus, and he's obviously not studying to become a Healer. Therefore, I'm bound to go in there alone. Feeling quite self-conscious, I walk through the door, the clicking of my heels ringing through the auditorium.

(Just why did I put on these shoes again?)

(Oh, yes. Fresh start. I'm a _woman_ now.)

The room is beautiful. In spite of the modernity around this campus, this space is a tad classic, with red and golden as the local colour palette. There are about fifty people occupying the seats, and by the looks of it, I'm one of the last to walk in. In the front stands a man – old, wrinkly, wise-looking, wearing glasses – with a parchment and a quill in his hand. I see how the recognition lights up in his eyes as soon as he spots me. The fifty other students obviously recognise me too, as a wave of whispers once again fills the air. Horribly uncomfortable, I scan the room for a free seat. Luckily there seems to be one girl who's answering my prayers. She raises up her hand a little and smiles at me. Deciding that this is my best option, I walk up the stairs and let myself fall into the seat next to her.

"Hey," she greets quietly, "you looked a bit awkward, so..."

She, on the other hand, doesn't look awkward at all. In fact, she looks pretty damn sure. Her long, blond hair is straight yet messy, and her bangs are nearly covering her big, blue eyes. Her robe is buttoned up wrongly, but she's so good-looking that it doesn't matter. I ponder briefly how I always seem to attract beautiful people and how this is kind of damaging for my self-esteem, but then realise she must be expecting an answer.

"Yeah," I respond. "I know exactly two people in this university. One of them is my cousin, and the other one is a girl I can't stand for the life of it. Neither of them is here, so thanks."

"No problem. I'm alone here as well," she says, and now I notice an accent in her speaking.

"Where are you from?" I ask, interested. "I don't mean to offend you, but you sound a little – "

"Foreign? Yes, I'm from France."

"Beauxbatons?"

"Yes," she grimaces slightly at the mention of her old school. "Etiquettes all the way."

"Not one for etiquettes?"

She scrunches up her nose, and I decide I like her. "I'm a bit chaotic."

Just when I'm about to ask her name, the professor in the front clears his throat. In one second the room is silenced, and everyone's attention transfixed on the man who has now tilted his head up towards us.

"Good morning," he greets us, to which we reply with the same sentence simultaneously. He continues, "Before we begin, I'd like everyone to say their name, so I can scratch it on the list. We'll start in the front." A boy puts on a questioning face. "Yes, _you_."

"Brandon Echolls."

"Laura McGraw."

"Charlotte Lewis."

My turn. "Rose Weasley."

Collective turn of heads my way. The professor cocks his slightly, and mutters: "Interesting."

Blondie next to me widens her eyes, indicating that she had no idea it was me. Which is plausible, as French people usually don't read Witch Weekly or the Daily Prophet. Fortunately, she immediately recovers and utters her name aloud: "Eloise Moreau."

"French, I presume?" the professor shifts his penetrating gaze from me to her.

"Yes, professor."

Just when the man is about to say something, the door from the auditorium opens again. I roll my eyes at the sound – just how hard is it to be on time? I mean, I had an annoying cousin who wouldn't let me use the bathroom this morning, and I'm still –

Wait.

Is that –

_Leather, shiny shoes. Black tailored trousers. Grey cashmere sweater._

I vaguely hear Eloise mumbling something about 'hot' and I register some new whispering and I know people are looking at me again – from me to him, from him to me – and my head is spinning and I feel like I can't even breathe.

"I'm sorry, professor, I got held up on the way."

_That voice. That arrogant, drawling voice._

"Apparently. What's your name?"

"Scorpius Malfoy."

And then he finally looks up, sees me.

So much for a _fresh start_.

* * *

Ideas, suggestions, constructive criticism: always welcome.

-Josephine


	2. Two

Say hooray for quick updates! (Although I will probably not be able to keep up this rate)  
It's also not the best chapter I've ever written, but oh well.

Thanks for the reviews :)

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended. JK Rowling owns most of it.

* * *

**TWO**

Eloise is all Happy Face as the class has ended. Apparently I've managed to make my first friend at L.W.U., because she's currently joining me for lunch. The eating hall is as big as the one in Hogwarts, but just like the rest of the complex, a lot more modern. There are also a lot more tables than the four in the Great hall, and not everyone has to eat at the same time. I'm really, really glad I have a French sidekick as an accessory, because I have no idea where Albus is.

(Although my first guess would be in a girl's knickers.)

"I'm actually really looking forward to this year," Eloise says excitedly, when we sit down somewhere. "I mean, think of all the interesting things we're going to learn!"

Now that's a girl who can speak right to my heart.

"Exactly! And that professor seemed really good, don't you think?" I sincerely participate in the enthusiasm.

Eloise nods virulently. "Uhu. Our classmates seemed likable too, didn't they? That Malfoy guy – he's _really_ hot. Like the hottest person I've _ever_ seen."

Great.

There goes the enthusiasm. Flying outside the window. I'd actually forgotten that fact for about ten minutes, probably because Scorpius – or no, I'm going to refer to him as _Malfoy_ again – was seated as far away from me as he possibly could and I did everything in the world to refrain myself from looking at the boy. I was doing a pretty good job at ignoring him, but leave it to the rest of the world to remind me that my fantastic academic year has just been crushed by the fact that Malfoy and Violetta are attending the same university. I can't seem to decide whom I hate more.

"Did I say something wrong?" Eloise asks, noticing my sour expression. "Do you have something against Malfoy?"

My lips pressed into a thin line, I utter: "Oh, no. You read that all wrong. Malfoy is my personal bundle of joy and happiness."

"What did he do to you?" She looks curious, not thrown off by my unintended biting sarcasm.

I pick up the serviette next to my sandwich. "You see this?" I slowly tear the serviette in two. "This is a nice plastic metaphor to express what he did."

"He broke your heart?"

I sigh, realising how melodramatic that sounds. "Well, that's an eloquent way to put it."

"Were you guys a couple, then?" She inquires, obviously fascinated by my love life – or current lack thereof.

"For eight months, to be precise," I mumble. "Funny you're asking, though. All the rest of the world already knows."

Eloise takes a sip from her coffee before answering. "You're in the papers a lot? Because your parents are so famous?"

"Usually it's okay in my case, but when it got out that Malfoy and I were together," I shake my head a little, "there was this _huge_ fuss. Countless headlines about us being the incarnation of Romeo and Juliet – shit like that."

"Romeo and Juliet?" Eloise repeats incredulously.

"The Weasleys and the Malfoys have been living in this feud forever. The Weasleys on the 'light' side and the Malfoys on the 'dark' side," I explain. "You know the Order of the Phoenix?"

"We learned about that in school, yeah."

"Well, my grandparents, parents and my aunt and uncle were part of that. Malfoy's father, Draco, and grandfather, Lucius, were both Death Eaters. Although," I can't help but add with a smirk, "uncle Harry saved Draco's life."

"Talk about enemies." Eloise is clearly into my family history, but she's hardly the only one. "So how did your parents react to your relationship, if you don't mind me asking?"

I chuckle slightly. "My dad didn't talk to me for a week after he found out. My mum, always the sensible one, told me she was fine with whatever I did as long as I was happy. The reactions of my cousins were mixed, but nothing too extreme. Malfoy's grandfather wasn't exactly thrilled either – which is an understatement, trust me – but strangely enough, his father let it slide fairly quick. His mother was even _supportive_."

I'll never forget the day Malfoy and I received a Howler from his grandfather and my dad respectively.

We'd been a couple for about two weeks until it leaked out to the press. Even though we were stuck in the middle of the winter, everything seemed sunnier and shinier than it actually was, and I'm pretty sure that my then-boyfriend shared my sentiment. That morning I was sitting at the Slytherin table, in between Malfoy and Stephano – who had become a good friend – discussing something trivial, like our upcoming Potions test. Neither of us expected anything special to happen, until suddenly the Owls flew in and dropped one Witch Weekly on my plate, accompanied by an angry letter. Needless to say, it was mouse-still in the Great Hall by the time my dad was finished (_"He'll break your heart! He's using you! Malfoys don't have human feelings!"_) and granddaddy Malfoy was about to start ("_Such a disgrace to your pure blood-line! She comes from a filthy family, Scorpius, what were you thinking?"_) I felt like crawling under a rock, but Malfoy apparently didn't. He made a great show of putting his arm around me, kissing my cheek, and whispering: "I'm _not_ using you, and you're _definitely_ not filthy."

What a fucking joke. And a bad one at that too.

"So what happened in the end?" Eloise breaks me out of my reverie. "I mean, if you were together for eight months under those circumstances, you must've been pretty strong, right?"

"Naive is more the term that comes to mind," I roll my eyes at my own former stupidity. "He's the biggest bastard on the planet. He – "

And then suddenly I'm interrupted.

"Well, well. Look who we've got here."

See?

Another bad joke. Worst joke of the year probably.

"Sod off, Violetta," I snap, facing the Chinese girl who's smug expression makes me want to hex her. "Go spread your STD bacteria elsewhere."

The idiotic cow leans forward and puts a perfectly manicured hand on our table. "Good plan! I should visit someone, like, I don't know, _Scorpius_ maybe?"

There's a slight tightening in my throat, but I won't give her the satisfaction. Forcing on the most fake smile I can muster, I clap my hands together cheerfully. "You _totally_ should! Exchanging Chlamydia and genital herpes – how _utterly_ romantic!"

Eloise snickers loudly, nearly choking on her coffee. Violetta notices, and her smugness instantly changes into a very, very sour look. She grants Eloise the evilest of eyes, snaps at me: "How nice. You've made friends already to add to your own freak show. Congratulations, _Rose_."

"You know, your actions here prove a lot," muses Eloise thoughtfully in return, after swallowing her coffee properly. "You do realise that it's your own insecurity you're currently projecting on Rose?"

A girl that can speak right into my heart, indeed.

"And _how_ is this any of your business?" The colour of Violetta's face is slowly growing red.

Eloise opens her mouth to say something undoubtedly fun, but we're interceded once again. This time it's actually a nice surprise, as Albus all of a sudden puts a rough hand next to Violetta's, obviously coming straight from the Quidditch field.

"I think we've got a bug in here," he remarks coolly, eyeing the girl next to him in distaste.

He's _all_ Camp Rose, but can you blame him?

"Go away," she says in a shrill voice. "You look disgusting!"

He then gives her The Grin. "I beg to differ."

"So do I," adds Eloise. "And please leave. I think it's fairly obvious you're outnumbered here."

We all glare at her. I'm, of course, the worst, because I'm, naturally, the president of The Anti-Violetta Club. After a few seconds she realises she really is outnumbered, and that her task here is done. With an arrogant huff she turns around, unintentionally admits defeat, and walks away with swaying hips. I briefly ponder about what she's trying to prove here – seeing as we already _know_ she's cheap – but am happy she's gone all the same.

"That was the girl you were talking about earlier?" Eloise guesses rightly, while Albus sits down next to her at the table.

"Yeah," I confirm. "Quite a doll, isn't she?"

"She must be miserable," Eloise says. "It's clear as plain day-light she's jealous of you."

I'm about to snort, but then Albus clears his throat. "_Hello_, Rosie. Care to introduce me here?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I apologise quickly. "Albus, this is Eloise Moreau. She's in my class, French, and _way_ out of your league." Albus' grin falters a little, and Eloise laughs. "Eloise, this is Albus Potter. He's my cousin, best friend, and he'll probably flirt with you, so beware of his charm."

Albus hits my shin-bone with his foot under the table, before extending a hand to Eloise. "Hey! Don't mind Rose – she's just bitter."

As I cringe a bit, Eloise shakes the hand. "It's okay. I'm not bitter at all, so! I like almost everyone and everything – except etiquettes, then."

"I don't like etiquettes either. But we can elaborate on that very extensively later on, _when_," he puts an emphasis on the word, "you two are coming to this Beginning of the Year party tonight!"

"Oh, that seems fun! We can meet new people!" Eloise beams.

Alright then. "Where?"

"Basement of the dorms. But I got to go. See you in our dorm at eight or something?" Albus asks me while shoving his chair backwards to leave.

"Eight it is."

"Great!" He grins again. Then, just before he turns around, he winks at my French sidekick. "See you later, Eloise."

She waves, still beaming, as we watch him walk out the eating hall. "He's nice," she mentions casually.

I give her a meaningful look. "Careful, honey."

But she just keeps smiling – which is kind of contagious – and in spite of Malfoy and Violetta, I'm pretty happy about where I am now.

* * *

Funny to say, but for this evening it actually was Albus who put a great number on Eloise and me. Eloise came over to our dorm, bringing the majority of her outfits with her. Albus functioned as a judge while Eloise tried at least twenty of them – and in case you're wondering, _no_, I did not suddenly turn into Lily, I just don't want to look like an epic failure on my first L.W.U. party. Of course Eloise, in all her messy long-haired glory, looks five times as good as I do, sporting a worn mini jean skirt, loose red top and old ladylike sandals. You know those people who look great _effortlessly_? Yeah, well. She's even _taller_ than me. Unfortunately she's all lovable and lent me her green summer dress, so I can't even hold a grudge. The dress goes way too perfectly with my heels.

(Yes. Heels. I'm a woman now, _remember_?)

On the other hand, I've been told that I'm pretty plenty of times, so I don't feel entirely inadequate as Eloise, Albus and I walk into the basement of the dorms. Once again, I can feel like stares burning on my back, but am determined to pay it no heed. The basement is quite crowded and apparently nothing like the parties in the spacious common rooms at Hogwarts. Luckily there are these charmed air-cleaning machines planted at the ceiling, for otherwise I'm sure we'd all choke on lack of oxygen. There are also a few couches – to "rest", I assume – and a whole table with big bowls of what looks like Firewhiskey.

"Shall I get you ladies something to drink?" Albus proposes smoothly, winking at Eloise _again_.

I roll my eyes at his predictable antics. "Yes, _we_ would like something to drink."

Eloise chuckles softly, but Albus pretends not to notice my little quip. He turns around and goes for the drinks. Meanwhile, my new blonde friend pulls at my arm.

"Let's dance! I love this song!"

I don't actually know the song, but the beat's great all the same. Drawn by Eloise's free spirit, I start shaking my hips too. The music has a nice rhythm, quickly getting me on the right track. Eloise's not always in sync, but that's hardly a problem. She puts an arm around me and I'm sure there are a lot of horny teenage boys in this room whose thoughts are now getting derailed.

"Here you go." Albus hands us the drinks and then puts his arms around both of us.

We joyfully clink to our new year and friendship, emptying the substance in one sip. It's quite burning, to be honest, and it's obvious that we'll have a pretty wasted student body later on. But then again – can you blame us? We can even drink _legally_ now!

"This university is the best place on earth, I'm telling you," Albus says lazily, after taking his wand and making it refill his cup.

"What about the Côte d'Azur?" Eloise offers.

I stand by her: "Yeah! Not that we've actually been there, but that must be so- " Suddenly something changes in both their expressions. "Guys? What's wrong?"

And then, before either of them has the possibility to reply, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I refuse to think it's who I think it is, but this is awfully familiar. With a racing pulse and praying thoughts, I turn around –

and look straight into Malfoy's piercing, metal gaze.

"Well, well. If it isn't Rose Weasley."

* * *

Alright. I know. There's hardly any Scorpius/Rose interaction, but next chapter will make up for that.  
Please review anyway though :)

-Josephine


	3. Three

Something actually happens in this chapter! Rose and Scorpius finally talk! Things get out of hand!

(that's supposed to sound promoting)

Thanks for all the reviews. They make my day!

**Disclaimer:** no copyright infringement intended. JK Rowling owns HP.

* * *

**THREE**

This must be déjà vu. And not the fun kind either.

I can't exactly pinpoint what my first thoughts are at seeing him up close again. I'm way too sober for this? Did he use a bleaching spell for his teeth or is that just the light? Why are the biggest bastards on the planet the best-looking? Has he grown even taller or did I shrink? Was there really a time that he held my hand and kissed my nose? Was there really a time I literally felt something jumping in my chest whenever I saw him? Was there really a time I actually believed I could see behind the pretty boy façade? Was there really a time I didn't have the primal urge to literally rip his blood-pumping organ to shreds?

Because, honestly. That feels like a _dream_ now.

"Well, well," I reply tightly, not bothering to hide the disgust in my voice. "If it isn't Scorpius Malfoy, unwanted piece of trash extraordinaire."

Of course _he_ doesn't look uncomfortable at all. I mean, why should he after all? He is only the one at fault for ruining whatever illusionary cloud I was drifting on for eight months. He's only the one that made me cry my guts out for _weeks_, which, as I'm sure, he _knows_.

So go on, Malfoy. Keep on looking as smug as you do now.

"I see you got in," he mentions casually, shamelessly refilling my glass.

Quickly pulling my glass away, I say snidely, "How _sagacious_ of you, Sherlock."

"Interesting, though," Malfoy drawls, clearly not impressed by my rude behaviour, "seeing as _I_ got in as well. For the same program, even. This is just another fascinating piece of proof that great minds think alike."

How _dare_ he stand there like that?

How dare he stand like – like he owns the world? Like he just saw me _yesterday_? Like we didn't spend two months apart with me researching legitimate killing spells? Like we're... _friends_?

"Oh, come on, Sco – _Malfoy_," I snap. "You're mind isn't _half_ as great as mine. And _what_ are you doing here exactly?"

He smirks slightly at my little slip-up. "Developing a quick case of senility, Rose?" As I merely roll my eyes, he continues, "You know, the _Healing department_? I'm in your class?"

"It was quite hard to miss your arrival. What held you up anyway? Quick shag in the janitor's closet?"

Not the smallest flinch. "As a matter of fact there were problems with the administration."

"Daddy didn't pay enough to bribe you into the school?"

"Lost the file of my insurance. Turned out to be under my bed."

Wondering why I still bother, my eyes hit the ceiling again. "Whatever. I still don't know what the bloody hell you're doing here."

"I'm here because of the Healing program," he repeats slowly, as if I once hit my head against a tree and afterwards grew retarded.

"_Yes_," I bite out, frustrated. "But why the Healing program? Why _treating_ patients? You don't give a shit about people!"

"True," he confirms annoyingly. "Which is why I don't want to treat _patients_. I want to treat _illnesses_."

"Great. I'd almost forgotten what kind of a selfish cad you are."

His first reaction is to shrug, but then something in him strangely changes. Strangely – because I've gotten to know him, to _really_ know him, from his insecurities (yes, it turns out he has them) down to his nicest smile, but I don't recognise the glint in his eyes now. And, trust me, I've gazed into those eyes more than a few times. I've come to realise that when you look very, very deeply it is possible to detect emotion somewhere (a magnifying glass is always helpful, though).

"Well yeah, you tend to forget things after two months of not speaking," he mumbles then, immediately masking his expression again.

"My memory is quite clear, thank you very much," I snap, and we both know what I'm referring to.

In one flash the unidentified look is back. "Rose – "

And then, in that very same flash, I decide that I'm not going to stand here any longer – watching how the lights enlighten his aesthetically perfect face while he keeps on this excruciating pretence of normalcy or regret or whatever he's attempting to portray here. I've got news for you, Malfoy. If you want to go back to _normal_, you should just go back to name-calling, seeing as _that_ was normal before we got tangled up in our damned liaison during seventh year. And if you want to tell me you're sorry – well, then _I'm_ just sorry for _you_.

The Romeo and Juliet phase is over. And they sure as hell were dead long before they could even settle for the _friends_ part.

"Don't," I therefore interrupt. "Don't even start."

"Start what?" He's suddenly smirking and we both know it's the pretence that's making him do so. "I was just going to say that you look nice with heels."

Pretence. Pretence. _Pretence_.

"I'd say you look nice too, but unfortunately, all I can see right now is a slimy bastard."

"You know you don't mean that."

"Yeah, Malfoy. You've always had the talent of looking right into my head."

He doesn't let my attitude get to him. "Why haven't you touched your drink?"

"You might've poisoned it," I explain, stirring the glass slightly. Of course I know for a fact that he hasn't, but who cares?

He takes a step forward, and puts his hand back upon my shoulder. I immediately slap it off, but he's still standing a little too close for me to feel comfortable. Other than that, he also hasn't stopped wearing that presumptuous smirk, and it's getting on my last nerve.

"Rose, honestly. If you really didn't want to be standing here, you would've run off a long time a – "

And then – because he is so _dishonest_ - I do the first thing I can think off to relieve my anger.

I empty the oh-so important full glass on his perfect face, perfect shirt, perfect trousers, perfect damn everything.

In a fraction of a second, the whole room is in a frenzy. A collective buzz breezes through the basement. I hear a lot of laughter, and Eloise and Albus – whom I'd totally forgotten about – even start an applause. Other people actually join in and cheers and 'oohs' and 'aahs' are thrown around. I wonder briefly whether no girl has ever emptied her drink on a boy before, but then I realise we're – of course – Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy, and we'll probably be in the papers by tomorrow if somebody happens to have a camera.

The only person that doesn't look too happy is Malfoy himself.

That, in itself, is enough to make me smile.

"You know," he sputters, completely baffled, pushing wet hair out of his face. "If you wanted to be left alone, you could've expressed so _verbally_."

I hold up my hands in a defensive manner. "_Oops_. That totally slipped."

"You're fucking mental," He spits, checking himself out to measure the damage.

"Or, wait. You know what, Malfoy?" I pretend to inspect my nails for a second, and then tilt my head back up. "It was on purpose. And for your information – I was going to express my desires verbally, but then I just thought a little show would be more entertaining to watch. Goodnight."

And with that I receive another round of applause. I pay it no heed, however, and simply push a cursing Malfoy aside to go and refill the drink I just wasted on the sorry excuse of a Wizard.

* * *

Five drinks later, the party is in full swing. Eloise and Albus have hit it off, apparently, completely against my warnings. I can't be bothered, though, as my own head is also somewhere up the clouds. Firewiskey is no Butterbeer, and I'm experiencing that right now. Malfoy is still around as well (nothing a Cleaning spell can't fix), and if I'm not mistaken, he's currently chatting up some blonde girl. Since the only feelings I now harbour for him are hate and disgust, I _naturally_ don't care. Why should I care? I mean – really? I know she's probably thinking he's some great catch or something, but he's not. Every woman in her right mind knows that. So bottom line: I don't care. I repeat: I don't care.

"You were hilarious earlier."

I nearly get a heart-attack as someone says that in my hear. I look to my right to find a chestnut-haired guy taxing me up and down. He's wearing glasses and clean-cut clothes, but I suppose he isn't bad-looking. As soon as my pulse's back to its normal rate, I turn to him.

"Thanks. And you might be...?"

He grants me a smile and then offers me a drink. "Vincent. Law department."

"You sound like you're reading your card," I giggle – yes, _giggle_ – while taking the drink. I'm feeling kind of fuzzy, and I'm obviously not thinking too straight.

Mister Law department doesn't seem to mind though. "What's your name?"

"Oh, come on," I respond, placing my hand on his chest due to some drunken impulse, "like you don't know already!"

"Alright, Rose," he caves. "Want to dance?"

I shrug carelessly. "Why not?"

He grabs my hand that's on his chest and guides me through the people. I quickly down my sixth glass, even though something in the back of my inactivated brain is telling me to stop. That same something is also pointing out that it makes no sense that I'm actually following this Law student, since there's nothing special or even likable about him, but the other part of my mind, the intoxicated one, reminds me of the fact that it's my first party at the L.W.U., and... well. I just had the first, not to mention horrible, encounter with my ex-boyfriend since we broke up, and really, that sucks. It fucking sucks. So correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm allowed to get drunk out of my wits and dance with people who wear glasses and clean-cut clothes and introduce themselves by informing me they're a Law student.

"Another drink?" he proposes, upon noticing I've finished mine.

I nod stupidly. He instantly obeys my wishes and disappears again. I start moving slightly, momentarily closing my eyes. I realise I haven't seen Albus or Eloise in a while, but the thought vanishes as quickly as it has come up. The music sounds like, well, music in to my ears, and suddenly I'm determined to make this night worthwhile. After two minutes of dancing on my own, I feel two arms circling around my waist. I recognise the pattern of Vincents sleeves, and take the drink he is holding. The liquid now glides down my throat, and there is nothing left of the earlier burning.

"You're a good dancer," Vincent whispers in my ear, rubbing his body against mine.

There is something struggling inside of me, but I don't know how to place it. Instead of answering, I let myself get carried away mindlessly. He's not a bad dancer himself – I should give him that. I, on the other hand, am not doing too well, if you ask me, because there's this thing with my legs and arms and head and everything. Everything is way too vague and blurry. Except –

It takes me a couple of seconds to register Malfoy standing only a few metres away, still talking to that blonde girl I don't know, but looking straight at me. To refrain myself from getting lost in some staring contest, I press my eyelids closed again and move faster, more intense. Vincent obviously approves, but I must say I don't give two cents about what he thinks. I just dance. Dance, dance, dance –

Anything to get _him_ vanished from my vision.

I don't care, I tell myself. The music speeds up and I tell myself I don't care. Even with my eyes closed he's there, in front of me, sharp and defined, more sharp and defined than anything else in this entire world, and he's giving me the sensual smirk he's granted me so many times. It's not Vincent but him standing behind me now, behind my eyelids, and he's kissing my neck and he's apologizing and he mumbles I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I –

_You're too late_.

My eyes fly back open.

But then everything fades to black.

* * *

Please review ;)  
-Josephinee


	4. Four

READ:

A) I have lost my writing hand. See for yourself.

B) 'Chronicles' has been plagiarised. Here's the link: http://www(dot)harrypotterfanfiction(dot)com/viewstory(dot)php?psid=262863  
Feel free to review and be obnoxiously rude. I can't post anything on the forum, apparently, nor can I send an e-mail, so all in all, I'm TERRIFICLY BUGGED.

C) I changed the rating. There was a very nice reviewer who happened to be offended by the profanity of this story. She doesn't think Hermione's daughter would have such a limited vocabulary. She also thought of Rose as a 'Gossip Girl', referring to the series, I suppose. Now, she (or he or whatever) fails to reply, so if you guys have an idea why Rose resembles someone from Gossip Girl, please care to inform me. If you don't, try to come up with reasons why anyone would. Thanks. It would make my world a happier place.

Aaaaanyway.

**Disclaimer: Do not own blah blah blah blah.**

**

* * *

**

**FOUR**

I can't hold my liquor.

You don't have to tell me.

When I regain consciousness, my head is pounding in an all too familiar way. I vaguely try to swallow, but my mouth is dry and tastes like sand-paper. My stomach isn't feeling too festive either. In fact, nothing is feeling too festive.

"Drink this."

The sound comes from miles and miles away. With great strain I very, very slowly raise my eyelids. It takes a few seconds for my vision to sharpen, and when the contours of my surroundings finally become clear, I recognise the person hanging over me, a cup held in his hands.

"Scorpius?"

My voice is hoarse and my throat raw.

"Drink this," he repeats, bringing the cup closer to my lips. "It'll make you feel better."

I meekly do as he says. After he's poured the entire substance down, my right mind slowly sets in. "What am I doing here?"

"You passed out," he states matter-of-factly. "I brought you here. This is my dorm."

"Where was I in the first place?"

"Party in the basement. You don't remember anything?"

Think, Rose. Put that oh-so famously inherited brains of yours to a good use.

Slowly but surely, the former events begin to take a form into my memory. L.W.U., Eloise, Albus, the party, Healing class... Scorpius?... What about Scorpius? Ransacking my deepest memories, I realise I threw a drink on him last night. Why did I do that? Why did I –

Comprehension dawns upon me.

With speed faster than lightning, I push his covers off me. Too much questions storm over me to handle. I'd sum them up, but then again, I suppose I'm quite capable of recapitulating them all into one: HOW DID I END UP IN SCORPIUS' BED?

(Again.)

(With no intention of doing so.)

(Because, hey! See how well _that_ worked out for us!)

"Relax," comes the very annoyed tone of Malfoy, who's currently staring at me with a frown marring his stupidly smug face.

"Relax?" I shriek, placing my hands on my hips to come off a little more threatening. "You probably _raped_ me!"

He rolls his eyes at my dramatic behaviour. "Always the rational one, aren't you?"

"Well, what's so irrational about thinking _you_ raped me?"

Aside from the fact that we've already been past that stage, you could've had any girl you wanted – willing, even – and that I'm fully dressed. But hey. A present Malfoy is an insult-worthy Malfoy. It's like our first six years of Hogwarts all over again. One look at his all too familiar figure and spells for the worst kind of hexes are already brewing in my head. There was, alas, this small phase in our lives when we ridiculously believed that we... may have some _sort of loved_ each other... but thankfully, he managed to wake me up by whacking my face against the wall right on time.

"Besides the obvious, you mean?"

Yeah, well. "The only obvious thing here is that you're an idiot and furthermore I'm quite in the dark."

"Albus was nowhere to be found, neither was that blonde girl." Ugh. If Albus actually dropped his sperm cells inside my French Sidekick, I'm going to off him. "And then there was this creepy law student hovering over you, so I decided I'd bring you here."

Alright. I admit. I'm _somewhat_ caught off guard.

The thing is, he surprisingly has rescuing tendencies. I remember this exceptionally sunny day in May, a couple of months ago. Louis and Albus had convinced me to go out and play Quidditch with them, just like we did when we were younger and I did not realise what a stupid sport it is, to celebrate the nice weather. We didn't play a real game, since it was only the three of us. We merely freed the snitch, under the vow that Louis and Albus would massage my feet if I caught it first. I did spot it first, actually, in spite of my not-so-fantastic Quidditch skills, but of course, Albus, who wasn't so keen on the thought of touching my feet, dived right in front of me. I can't pinpoint how exactly it happened, but _somehow_, in the middle of racing someone who later got a spot in the L.W.U. Quidditch team, I lost my balance and ended up hanging with only my two hands on the broom. I was getting a tad panicked, you see, but then, suddenly, out of the blue – _whoop_, there was my personal saviour! Scorpius Malfoy, who pulled me off my broom quite handily, and put me on his. Apparently he'd been 'wandering around' (read: _stalking_ _me_) right on the moment I decided to fall.

I think 'all good things come to an end' is a fitting expression.

Because you know what? Love is evanescent. Love is like a visitor – it comes, maybe stays for a while, but it goes almost every time.

"Oh, how touching," I therefore sneer with a scrunched up nose. "My very own knight in shining armour. Did you bring a white horse too?"

"Now, I will carefully thread away from using the small brain metaphor, since that argument has gotten quite old and I know for a fact that you're, unfortunately, one intelligent witch - but honestly, Rose. Are your brain cells only functioning halfway decent? Or do you insist on ignoring that I actually helped you?" He looks at me with an incredulous expression.

I snort, fully going with the latter. "Who says I didn't want to leave with the law student?"

"Do you even remember his name?" He cocks an eyebrow, and I wonder if he's become a Legimens or something.

"Do you remember all the names of the girls you've slept with?" I shoot back.

"We're not talking about me here. This is about you – and you wouldn't do something like that."

Oh, _great_, Malfoy.

There it is again. The huge block of bricks rising between us, reminding us both of the facts.

"Well," I say tightly. "People tend to surprise you. For the worse."

Malfoy's pretty faces morphs from confident to uncomfortable. He's one of those people that are utterly incompetent when it comes to facing your flaws. The very second one of his not all too endearing qualities is brought up, and _wham_. He switches the subject. "Don't you want some breakfast?"

What a true ice-breaker. "I do want some breakfast," I counter, "just not when you're preparing it."

"Who says I'm preparing it?"

"Don't tell me you've got house-elves in this place..."

"Okay, fine. Then I won't tell you," he retorts, like the infantile, pedantic ball of misery he is.

Un-be-lie-va-ble.

"You've got _house-elves_ here?"

Mum would throw a tantrum if she knew.

"My father hired them," he shrugs as if it's no big deal. "Didn't think I could take care of myself."

"Oh, so he's paying them?" And then, as an afterthought: "Damn right you can't."

"Come on, Rose. You know I'm a big b – "

Then something occurs to me.

"Bloody hell!" I yell out, interrupting him. "Don't we have class right now?!"

"Trust Rose Weasley to come up with something like that," he mumbles between his teeth.

"_Seriously_!"

He sighs very loudly. "No, we don't. It's eleven o'clock and our first class today is at two. So, breakfast?"

"That would be a no," I reply testily, while searching for the door. "I'll leave myself out."

Just when I'm about to push the door handle down, his aggravating drawl calls from behind me: "It wasn't like I asked you to marry me!"

"Yeah, and I'll be _extremely_ busy for the next few hours thanking the stars for that!" I call back over my shoulder, right before I walk out the dorm and slam the door closed. I hear a loud 'thud' on the other side, and rush away hoping I broke something.

* * *

Of course I'm right on time when my class starts. Malfoy's drink has done me well. Then again, he's always been one magnificent potions-maker. Not that he deserves credit or anything – but you got to give him at least _that_. Thanks to him I now have a head completely cleared, and I even managed to make myself look presentable.

Skirt not an inch above my knees, Oxford blouse, flat shoes – very, _very_ decent.

As I walk inside the auditorium, I secretly cross my fingers behind my back that there weren't too many classmates of mine at that party. I'm notorious enough as it is. I don't want to turn into The Weasley Girl That Passed Out At That One Party Because She Was Wasted Out Of Her Wits. You might be mocking me right now, but honestly, that's the way it goes. I might as well shave my hair off and get 'BRAND ME' tattooed on the back of my head.

Maybe it would become a trend or something.

"Rose!" I hear from somewhere in the front row. "Over here!"

I find a beaming Eloise waving at me. With a slightly sour face I sit down next to her. She looks surprisingly awake - and gorgeous as always - for the events that occurred last night. That, naturally, only adds to my pettiness towards her.

"Oh, look who it is. The brightest bulb in the chandelier!"

"What are you talking about?" She asks, still with that smile. I bet you couldn't beat it off with a stick if you tried to. Perhaps I should try out some spells... an anti-gravitating spell, for example. It would get the smile downwards, if you catch my drift.

"_You_," I point my finger at her, in reprimanding fashion, "fell for my cousin's stupid lines!"

"I didn't fall for anything. We just had a lovely conversation outside! Have you seen the sky yesterday?" She looks at me dreamily. "It was _so_ clear. Seriously, there were all these stars enlightening the – "

She's mental. Period.

"Well, no, unfortunately I wasn't able to share in this wonderfulness, as I was too busy _passing out_ and being dragged to _Malfoy's_ dorm!" I exclaim. Not too loudly, naturally.

"You passed out? Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry!"

Now, of course, I'm feeling guilty for letting her feel bad about something she has nothing to feel bad about. "It was entirely my fault. The issue at hand here, is that I woke up in Malfoy's bed."

"Speaking of which," she motions towards the door, as a seemingly superior Malfoy strolls in. He doesn't spare me a glance, and neither do I. He's good at that, I'm good at that. We're so good at that someone should actually consider giving us both a job that requires the talent of ignoring another person. We'd make a nice, lovely, _really_ professional team, I'm sure.

Eloise also transfers her attention back to me. "Well, anyway, I'm sure that's not the first time, is it?"

"_Eloise_." I grant her a glare.

"Alright, alright, sorry," she quickly redeems herself. "How did it go?"

I open my mouth to form an answer, but at that moment our professor walks in. This time it's woman, around her forties. She looks fairly stern, reminds me somewhat of my old headmistress, professor McGonagall. The robe she's wearing is white, like a Healer's robe's supposed to be. She doesn't seem the kind of person to mess around with, so I immediately keep my mouth shut. The others apparently receive the same vibe, as the room quietens down in an instant.

"Good afternoon, students." Her voice is distinct and high-pitched. "As you may know or not know, my name is professor Davidson. Today you have all gathered here for the subject of The Human Skeleton." She pauses momentarily. "For all of you who have every broken a bone, it may seem that the solution was simple. It does require a certain skill, however, and that skill, we are going to learn in the following five classes, starting today. Now, who happens to know how the number of bones in our body?"

"206," comes a direct reply, which I recognise to be Malfoy's.

"208," I correct, turning around to watch his face fall.

Just like the good old days. How I've missed them _wholeheartedly_.

"Both of you are right," professor Davidson shoots down my triumph. "It depends of the method used for the counting. Your first 'assignment' is to learn _what_ exactly we're counting. In other words, I want you to have memorised every bone of your body by next lesson. It's in your handbook, page 56." Everyone takes the handbook out his bag and flips to said page. "As you see, there are no names written yet. That's why I want you to copy the page with your wand, and then try to fill in the names you already know. This way I'll know how far you're along in the subject."

Well. She certainly doesn't let the grass grow under her feet.

Thank Merlin I was being so boyfriend-less over the Summer that I actually _studied_.

"Don't you just love her?" Eloise whispers. I'm briefly flabbergasted that she's capable of actual sarcasm, but one look at her face later, and I realise she's actually serious.

"Sure," I grimace.

"Before you get on it, you may get yourself something to drink first," professor Davidson continues. "Maybe that way we won't have two ladies whispering during class. Shoo. See you in ten minutes."

Eloise and I both look down to the floor, but evidently, she wasn't joking. Students are standing up and leaving the room. Strangely enough, professor Davidson is one of them, and luckily enough, so is Malfoy. That leaves Eloise and I by ourselves, and since we're in no instant need of coffee, we stay right where we are and pick the conversation back up.

"So, how did it go?" Eloise repeats her former question.

"He gave me an anti-hangover potion, and then offered me breakfast," I reply, shuddering at the memory.

She raises her eyebrows. "He sounds really nice!"

"I must say, Eloise," I shake my head softly, "you are the first person in this whole world who might have ever used that adjective for Scorpius Malfoy."

Common, sensible opinion on Scorpius Malfoy would be: 'noun – spoilt, cunning narcissist, known for its shrewd, deceiving and manipulative ways.' Or something along those lines.

"Maybe he's exclusively nice to you?"

_Hah_! "Oh, no, no, _no_. He's been about everything but nice to me."

"What did he do, then?"

My lips are pressed in a thin line. "Nothing."

"Then why don't you think he's nice?"

Argh. Argh argh _argh_.

See this face, Eloise? It's my Stop-Talking-Or-Else-I'll-Avada-You-Right-On-The-Spot-Face. I'm _famous_ for it.

"Because he's a _bastard_!"

"But he must've done _something_!"

I am going to strangle her. With my bare hands. I could always bribe my way out of Azkaban. I mean, see how well that worked out for, say, Lucius Malfoy...

"Can't you just _take_ it from me that _some_ people aren't _nice_?"

"Well, usually there's a rea – "

"_Fine_!"

And then, completely against my own better judgment, I blurt it out.

"He _cheated_ on me!"

* * *

That last line must've been the biggest surprise of your life, I'm sure.  
Please do review though, it makes my day (AND of course I would also like to know why ROSE IS A GOSSIP GIRL)

-Josephinee


	5. Five

Thank you all for the great feedback, and all the niceness concerning the plagiarism thing. I had a blast reading all our your oh-so nice reviews, muahaha.  
Unfortunately the story's still there, but hell. At least everyone knows I wrote it.

Many of you were really curious what happened with the cheating thing, so I explained it entirely in this chapter. It's different from the story's usual structure, but I hope I cleared some things up.

**Disclaimer**: same as the former chapters.

* * *

**FIVE  
**

Shock sprawls all over Eloise's face. "He didn't."

"No, he didn't. I just said that for the dramatic effect," I roll my eyes.

"So, what happened?" She asks, frowning.

I shrug. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, the things that happened!"

I sigh. Here we go.

* * *

Malfoy transformed me into someone I didn't know.

I remember being in fourth year. Boys and girls started to have an eye for one another, see the other sex in a different, much better light. It was around that time that Louis and Albus got heinously popular. Whereas before they'd been somewhat scrawny little boys, they had now visibly filled out and had become good-looking adolescents. I shared a sleeping room with lots of other girls, and I can still recall how, while I was trying to get some decent sleep, they gossiped about the two. I, of course, was freaked out by it beyond belief. What freaked me out even more, however, was that not only had Louis and Albus changed, but so had that nerve-wracking Malfoy kid. Suddenly I found that the boy I'd disliked intensely for years had become the biggest object of lust the entire school. I was simply appalled at the girls' mindless behaviour – like they'd turned into a bunch of idiots thriving on attention from either Louis, Albus or Malfoy. The disgust only increased over the years, watching how different girls stumbled in the Ravenclaw's common room, sobbing their eyes out after they'd realised they'd only been used by one heartless bastard. I lost count of the times I scolded Louis and Albus (and Malfoy) for making so many girls cry. I also lost count of the girls I scolded for being ridiculously giddy after they'd been asked out by one of those three. They _knew_ where it would end up – how could they not? – but somehow chose to ignore it.

And then, all of a sudden, I was one of _those_ girls too.

The night that Scorpius Malfoy and I became boyfriend and girlfriend, it was raining cats and dogs. He'd professed his 'love' for me in the middle of a downpour, ruining my hair and dress and shoes in process. But that stupid hair, and that silly dress, and those ludicrous shoes seemed _so_ trivial, _so_ incredibly insignificant that very moment, because he was giving me a look I'd never seen him give anyone before, and I then knew that what I felt was something extraordinary. Hogwarts could've fallen off the earth and I would've been too busy being extremely happy too care. When the rain stopped and we walked back into the Great Hall, hand in hand, I was smiling like the biggest idiot in the world, nearly _skipping_ my way in. The party paused for a split second when we made our entrance – the entire student body had its eyes plastered on our soaked forms, all staring at the way our fingers were entwined. Whispers erupted from everywhere – _is that...? Are they...?_ _How did that...?_

And from that minute on, Malfoy and I were the most gossiped about couple that had ever graced Hogwarts.

A lot of people didn't approve, of course. The girls were either frustrated about the loss of an eligible bachelor, or bitter about the way Malfoy had broken their hearts before. I got the same advice from people that I used to give _them_, and Albus and Louis repeatedly threatened Malfoy with severe violence if he'd ever even thought of hurting me. Lily, on the other hand, was my biggest support. Hugo never said much about it, and stuck to giving me a knowing smile every time I passed him in the hallways. I think he liked the fact that he'd been right all along, as was Lily, and loved to rub it in my face – albeit subtly. Another thing that occurred were bets placed on how long Malfoy and I would last. From what I heard from my cousins, most people gave it about a month. Of course that scared me, somewhere deep in my guts, because the thought that Malfoy would grow tired of me and start regarding me as one of his many conquests simply paralysed me. And the thought that I'd now become _dependent_ on him paralysed me even more. I'd always prided myself on not being a lovesick fool, and now, thanks to him, I was the grade A example of it.

I can't lie and say it made me feel bad though.

We still fought, every now and then. We bickered the whole road through our relationship. I think that's because we'd gotten so used to that in the former six years of knowing each other, that we couldn't just drop the habit like that. Besides, it made us challenge the other and kept us both on our toes. It also reminded us of the fact that he was not just any other boy and I was not just any other girl. He never made me feel like that either. He took me out to restaurants (where we'd stay until closure, lost in deep conversations I only held with him), he carried my books (to which I'd always protest, claiming I was a grown up girl), he had the habit of loosely swinging his arm around me (which made me feel small yet protected, and I think he liked to show off that I was his.) Those things may have been fairly trifling, but I could recall the nights where Violetta complained about him vividly, and it made me euphoric to know that all the things he didn't do with Violetta, he did with me.

Oh, and then there was also the fact that he loved me.

That's right. Scorpius Malfoy told me, Rose Weasley, that he _loved_ me. Without the 'in' in front of it.

It happened in public too. We were sitting in Potions, me next to Louis, him next to Stephano. We made sure not to act like one of those couples who have their hip glued to each other the entire time, so we usually sat next to one of our friends in class. We often exchanged notes, though, ignoring the detail that we'd both mocked that before we'd become a pair. That special day I was also busy writing a note to him when my quill fell. He quickly picked it up for me. Then, while handing it over to me, his lips quirked into a smirk, and he drawled: "You should be more careful with your stuff, Weasley. Oh, and I love you, by the way." To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. Even our professor had stopped speaking to see what I'd say, and eventually I ended up muttering: "Shouldn't you start addressing me with my first name in that case?" And that's exactly how Malfoy and I stopped calling each other by our family names. One week later, when he asked me for the coffee at breakfast, I poured him a cup and said: "Oh, yeah, before I forget, I love you too."

That was it.

I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I didn't want anything remotely unlike him. He's not one for romance, and neither am I. We fit just fine. Underneath the layers of arguments and heat and passion and late-night encounters, we blended just fine.

But – as I said before and as I will repeat again – love is evanescent.

Even though I was vaguely aware of that fact, even then, the fallout happened unexpectedly. Just after we'd finished our NEWTs, I got a severe food poisoning. Scorpius and I were dining at this restaurant, a very expensive, fancy one, to celebrate the end of the Hogwarts era, when suddenly a restriction of my throat occurred. There was a huge fuss – a surge of panic swept through the room. People hurried themselves towards me – Rose Weasley, famous daughter of Hermione and Ron Weasley – in attempt to help, but all they did was worsen the matters. Scorpius, as calm and collected as he is, immediately Owled St.-Mungo's. Five minutes of desperately trying to breathe later, I was picked up by two Healers, rushing me to the hospital. The first thing they did there was giving me potion that loosened the closing of my throat. The potion stung horribly – but Scorpius sat next to me and held my hand, trying to distract me as much as possible. Unfortunately, the issue only travelled to the surface of my body. Before I knew it, my entire back was covered with terribly itching red dots. It turned out to be contagious too – which caused Scorpius to be banned from my room. I, of course, told him it was okay, and that he could go to the Graduation party at Hogwarts. When the Healers told him I'd be okay, and that he could visit me tomorrow, he gave me a kiss on my forehead and left.

I think that was either the worst or best goodbye of my life.

My food poisoning happened to be mixed with an allergic reaction to a certain ingredient in my dish, which explained the rash. A few potions later the rash was slowly disappearing, but my stomach began to protest instead. I spent the entire night vomiting, cursing my bloody luck for having me stuck in the hospital while all my friends had their Graduation party. I couldn't blame them for not visiting my either – Scorpius had probably told them it wouldn't make a difference, and furthermore, it was kind of late. One of the nurses informed me that my parents were on their way, which did comfort me somewhat.

Little did I know that this was only a fraction of the pain that had yet to come.

Because, the next day, Scorpius didn't show up at all.

Throughout the day, all my family members and friends one by one dropped by. There was a distinct difference in posture between the ones that attended Hogwarts and the ones that didn't. The last category acted _normal_, showering me with gifts and I'm-so-sorry-that-you-had-to-miss-your-Graduation-party's. The former, however... I noticed it straight away. When Albus and Louis came in, they looked at me with _such_ an uncomfortable expression gracing their faces that I realised instantly something was off. At first I wrote it off to their hangovers – they'd just had a _party_, you know. But when I asked if they'd enjoyed themselves, they'd merely mumbled something akin to 'yeah', and a flicker of dejection lit up in two pairs of eyes. When I asked them if they'd seen Scorpius, they stormed off as if burned, making up the most ridiculous excuses in human history. A heavy pit began to form in my stomach.

The reason why they hadn't told me immediately, as Louis explained later, was that, after they'd threatened to hex him to death, Scorpius had vowed to tell me himself.

He _never_ did.

When in the evening I was packing my stuff to leave the St.-Mungo's, Louis was the one to break the news. My mum and dad were away for a few minutes, getting coffee downstairs. Louis appeared in my room, out of the blue, and with the gravest face I'd ever seen him wear, told me he had to tell me something.

_Scorpius cheated on you._

And the strange thing was, there wasn't this phase where I didn't believe it. I _knew_, in the deepest core of both my heart and ratio, that Louis wasn't lying, and that this was exactly the reason why Scorpius wasn't here stroking my hand and telling me the party had kind of sucked because I wasn't present.

_The lad was wasted and left with Summer Adams, that Slytherin girl._

_She confirmed it._

_The look on his face when we confronted him confirmed it._

_Merlin, Rose, I'm so sorry that it had to be like this..._

_Do you want me to, like, kill him?_

_Rose, say something I'm –_

Love is evanescent, as much as it is conditional.

I didn't know what to say, how to react, what to feel. I should've felt a dozen emotions at once – distress, disbelief, anger – but instead there was this inexplicable void, blanking out all of my senses. Louis put a cautious hand on my shoulder, nudging me softly, but all I could do was stare at the white wall in front of me, frozen and inwardly blocked. I stared and stared and stared and the colour was too bright and I stared and –

I ran.

I've never ran any faster than I did that moment.

Louis ran after me, naturally. When I sprinted through the entrance of the hospital, he managed to grab my arm, shouting at me it would be okay, that Scorpius was a loser, that Scorpius never deserved me. I shook off his grip, and yelled back that he'd done the same thing to girls that didn't happen to be his family, that he wasn't any better, and that he couldn't even begin to understand. My voice completely overpowered his, in every sense of the word, and he didn't bring out another syllable when my tirade was finished. I turned my back on him, and he didn't bother to follow me this time. It suited me. I wanted to be alone. I felt like I wanted to be alone forever.

Why hadn't he come to tell me himself?

Why had he done it in the first place?

How could he betray me like that – so in public, even?

How could he –

He was _shaking_ when we first got together.

He told me he _loved_ me.

After I'd ran for what felt like hours, I ended up in park. I remember sitting there on a bench, watching the lake as it was perfectly still, the glittering of sun reflecting. I don't know how long I sat there – staring like I'd stared at that damn white wall before – but I now know that it did not have to outcome that I wanted to gain. Because I was waiting for a sign. Because I was waiting for the bloody sun to glide behind a dark cloud, and for the rain to start. But it was June and sun was resolute and blinding.

The sign never came.

Neither did Scorpius.

* * *

In case you missed it, the waiting for the rain was a reference to the last chapter of Chronicles.  
Just making sure.

(And oh, review, my beloved readers. I'm a review-parasite. I'll hand out imaginary cookies.)

-Josephinee


	6. Six

A few centuries later and I'm back with the sixth chapter. Don't throw stones at me, please – There was a HUGE lack of time playing the main factor.

NOTES:  
1) To **Lonne Maris**: you're a legend.  
2) To **April**: yeah I'm from Belgium, around Leuven – know it?  
3) To **Zhoma**: thank you so much for the banner, it's seriously gorgeous!!! I'm so impressed!

**Disclaimer**: same as the former chapters.

* * *

**SIX**

One tale and one night later I'm heading back to the same class I've spilled all the beans about the failed relationship of Scorpius and me. I'm actually looking forward to it, seeing as yesterday's story of the week wasn't exactly festive. I could use a little distraction. I could _really_ use a little distraction from the fact that all these horrible memories I was so prone to avoid just floated back to the surface, and that it even kept me from sleeping.

Recheck your medical dictionaries, people. Main cause for insomnia: Scorpius Malfoy.

"You're thinking about him."

Out of completely _nowhere_, Eloise pops up beside me, swinging one of her French limbs around me.

"Of _course _I'm not thinking about him," I respond, full of indignance.

"Oh, don't give me that, lady," she gives me a knowing smile. "You have this face. I dubbed it your Scorpius Face."

I shoot her an incredulous, sideways look. "A _Scorpius Face_?"

"Well, yes. You wear this deeply etched frown, completely distorting your prettiness, and you have these hard lines around your mouth. You should see it. It's kind of unbecoming, really," she explains matter-of-factly, while I eye her with an expression that clearly indicated what kind of lunatic she is.

"Gee, thanks, Eloise. I think your beauty is marvellous too." I show off all my teeth in a big, obviously fake smile. "How do you recognise that face anyway?"

"Rose," she imitates my tone, "_it's the only one you've got_."

And by that she walks into the classroom, leaving me standing there with my deeply etched frown and hard lines around my mouth, wondering how in Merlin's name she came up with that.

* * *

"Good morning, everyone."

The stern professor Davidson calls attention as soon as she has come into the room. Her white robes are flowing behind her as she walks her no-nonsense walk and paces on the small stage. She doesn't look too happy – but then again, how are you able to say with an emotionless face like that? I mean, I'm sure _she_ doesn't have an Insert Name Of Man Who Made Her Bitter Face.

"I looked at the copies you handed in yesterday," she begins, and a few people visibly cringe. "And I must say, I'm severely disappointed. I thought that with the kind of exams you students have to take to be admitted to this university, you'd do a _lot_ better."

A familiar feeling washes over me – panic and failure united.

"Fortunately there was the nice surprise of Rose Weasley," she continues, "who managed to fill in 190 correct answers. Excellent example to set, miss Weasley," she looks at me with something resembling a ghost of a smile.

It takes all of my willpower to keep the beam from breaking out on my so-called Scorpius Face. I do, however, turn around to watch Malfoy's presumably crestfallen form. To my oh-so gigantic grief he seems as apathetic as ever, with eyes directed into space. I muse briefly about what he could've done last night (A party? A girl?) and then decide that I refuse to care. I switch back to professor Davidson, who's now handing the piece of parchment to me.

"Well done," she empathises again.

I nod politely. "Thank you, professor Davidson."

A barely audible snort I know all too well comes from behind me as she continues handing out the parchments. I blatantly ignore the fact that Malfoy thinks I'm a suck-up (he told me this once, or twice, or thrice, or like, a _million_ times), simply because _he_ is an even bigger suck-up. Especially with the female part of the teaching staff. But that's not exactly baffling, now is it?

"Hopefully you'll do better on the test we take today," professor Davidson interrupts my annoyance when she's done. "There is also a project I'm assigning you with. You'll be partnered up with another student in this class."

All my class mates groan. Except for Shiny Happy Eloise, but I suppose that speaks for itself.

"Do any of you have preferences concerning your partner?"

I raise my finger. "I'd like to be paired up with Eloise."

"In that case," she replies, "you're not. Your studies are an excellent way to interact with people you haven't met. It's a good to prepare for the real world."

"Bloody hell," I mutter to Eloise through my teeth, "as long as I'm not paired up with Malfoy – "

"Mister Malfoy, you say?"

Uh-oh. That was _not_ Eloise.

In fact, that sounded a _lot_ like professor Davidson.

And that can_not_ be a good sign, if you catch my –

"Miss Weasley and Mister Malfoy, you two form a team."

Oh, come _on_! I just got back the only good test of the _whole_ class and this is what she does to remunerate me, her best student? I mean, what happened to good old cookies or lollypops? Who in heaven hates me this much that I get stuck with the boy who completely abandoned me when I actually needed some kind of explanation?

Professor Davidson, I'll from now brand you the Spawn of Voldemort himself.

(Although, quite honestly, Voldemort's bodily functions were probably unable to reproduce by the fifth time Uncle Harry fried his non-existing organs out with some spell. But let's pay no attention to sensibility here, alright?)

"Any complaints?" Spawn of Voldemort asks aggravatingly.

I force myself not to throw my book at her. "No, professor."

"Certainly not, professor," adds Malfoy, whom is now smirking his brains out, I bet. "We'll have to make the best out of it."

Oh, you – you _sleazeball_!

"Great," S.O.V. replies. "On to the other pairs..."

* * *

"Bonjour, _mes filles_," Albus greets Eloise and me while we're eating our lunch in the cafeteria. "Comment ça va?"

I cock a questioning eyebrow. "So this is what you guys did when you were suddenly M.I.A. at the party? Respectively learning and teaching French?"

"Mais oui, bien sûr," Albus goes on in a horribly distorted accent.

Eloise giggles. "He does rather well, doesn't he ?"

I snicker. "Oh, yes. He's absolutely lovely."

"Okay, so I know that since -What you've been somewhat in a bad mood," Albus says diplomatically. "But did something special happen today, or...?"

"Elle doit faire son projet avec Malfoy," Eloise answers quickly.

"Um?" Albus blinks dumbly.

I thank the stars up above for my deducting skills. "She said I have to do a project with _Malfoy_, you simpleton."

"Simpleton?" Albus ostentatiously looks over his shoulder. "Me? A simpleton?" He then faces Eloise and casually strokes her arm. "Don't listen to the angry redhead. I'm actually pretty smart, you know."

"Angry redhead? Nice, Albus," I huff. "At least I'm a _rightfully_ angry redhead."

"You've got a point there. I'd hate to be in your position. But it'll be okay," my best friend gives me a reassuring smile. "Just ignore the lad. We'll find a way to cheer you up, won't we, Eloise?"

"Oh, surely! We'll throw you a party!" Eloise claps her hands cheerfully.

Albus picks up the cheery vibe immediately. "Great idea! To let it all go, you know?"

"I appreciate the effort, mate, but I passed out at the last party I went to, so no thanks," I decline cautiously.

"But it won't be like last time," Eloise protests. "We can do it in a small place – "

"Like our dorm, for example," Albus inserts.

"Exactly! And we'll only invite a handful of people... We'll keep you away from the Firewhiskey... And that's that! Perfect!" Eloise finishes enthusiastically.

I can't help but smile at their childlike expressions. "Alright, so maybe that's not too much of a bad idea..."

"Fantastic!" Albus and Eloise exclaim at the same time.

"Tonight?" I ask.

Eloise confirms. "Tonight."

* * *

You know that cliché in movies when teenage girls hold a party at their homes when their parents aren't there? When they only invite a handful of friends and end up with a bunch of strangers raiding their house, because someone told someone else and that someone else also told some other people? When at some point they realise that their place is getting wrecked and messed up by people they can't even reprimand, because they wouldn't bother to listen anyway?

Well, yeah.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that my dorm is now in full blown action. About fifty people are crammed into the small space of our kitchen, sleeping and living room. Using my right mind this time, I haven't touched a drop of alcohol, keeping my distance from the Firewhiskey while watching everyone else around me getting smashed. Eloise and Albus, for example. Not that I blame them – I mean, they _did_ seriously try to cheer me up. I'm just a very hard girl to cheer up. Or so I have been for the past months.

"Hey, you're that Rose girl, right?"

I turn to my left and I find Vincent the Law Student staring at me with a very, very annoying grin.

"Like you don't remember," I say calmly, adding 'creep' behind it in my head.

He flinches slightly. "Sorry, didn't get that?"

"I just said that I remember you!" I reply brightly, marvelling at the lad's idiosyncrasy. "I danced with you, didn't I?"

"Oh yeah, you sure did," he still wears that grin. "You were so out of it, though."

I giggle, fully over the top. "I know, right?" I touch his arm. "I was, like, _soooo_ wasted!"

His grin expands. "Want to do it again?"

Sweet Merlin. I can't believe he's actually _buying_ this act.

And here I was, hoping that at L.W.U. I wouldn't have to deal with unintelligent creatures anymore...

"No, no. I'm only _just_ recovering." I'm all into the new ditzy me, but then suddenly –

Merlin, _no_. No, no, no, no, no!

Glistening black hair. Long legs. Short dress. Big cleavage.

_Please_ tell me that someone put mushrooms in my water and that I'm subsequently _hallucinating_?

"What the _fuck_ is she doing here?" A drunken Albus encounters me, linking his arm through mine. "This must be a joke or something."

"Okay, so I'm not hallucinating?" I offer, feeling my mood drop to the low point.

Then another familiar French face pops up beside me. "Oh my – is that Violetta?"

"I'm afraid so," Albus mutters, glancing at me to check my reaction.

But then, out of the blue, something happens.

Eloise strides towards Violetta, a tad unbalanced, and with hands placed firmly on her hips, she comes to a standstill right in front of the Asian girl. Upon noticing Eloise, Violetta looks like she just drank an entire bottle of sour milk, and imitates the first girl's attitude. Albus and I exchange quick looks to share our interest, indicating that we're both dying to know what Eloise is going to spew. We slowly inch closer.

"What in _Merlin's_ name do you think you're doing here, Chang?" Eloise hisses angrily.

With her nose in the air, Violetta sighs loudly. "Um, hello? There's party? What you _think_ I'm doing here?"

"Well, you're not exactly invited, are you?" Eloise counters, nose just as high.

"Who's hosting the party anyway?" Violetta ignores that last comment. "If this is _your_ dorm is might be infected with something..."

Eloise grows quite red. "No, this is not my dorm! It's _Rose's_! So sod _off_!"

At the mention of my name, Violetta's face brightens visibly. "Oh, Rose? You mean Rose Weasley?" She spots me and gives me a smug look. "Too bad I didn't bring your boyfriend... Oh, wait! He liked Summer Adams better – so I guess he's not her boyfriend anymore, now is he?"

I'm feel something – white hot rage – surging through my veins, and in a fraction my wand is in my hand. Wondering briefly what kind of hex serves her, I it up, but then Eloise appears to be faster.

"_Confringo_!" She screams.

A white lightning races through the room, stopping at Violetta and knocking her right over. A loud boom is heard, and then everyone is completely silent. No one dares to speak a word. Eloise looks bedraggled, staring at the mess with a bizarre expression, waiting for something to happen, just like everyone else. We wait, and wait, but then...

All there is, is silence.

**

* * *

**

YES I KNOW I TOTALLY RUSHED THIS CHAPTER. Bear with me, though. I finally made someone hex Violetta! That's good, RIGHT?  
(And next chapter will contain Scorpius!)

-Josephinee  
(Review! Review! Review!)


	7. Seven

Hi, everyone. Thanks for the reviews!

**Disclaimer:** See former chapters.

* * *

**SEVEN**

After those few second in which the world had seemed to have stopped turning, a great buzz breaks free. As soon as everyone has gathered their wits, the room erupts in loud chaos, all the guests rushing to the girl that's now partly buried under a mass of wood from the door Eloise just managed to decimate. There is a collective wave of panic, and I must say I'm not feeling too well myself. Violetta doesn't move an inch, not even when people start trying to wake her up. As a small voice in the back of my head prays for her to not be dead (... there's a first time for everything) I push the rest aside, push the wood on her legs away, and kneel beside her. I put my index and middle finger a little under her chin to check if her heart's beating properly, wondering why nobody's done this before. Luckily I immediately feel a pulse, so I take it she's just unconscious from the shock.

In France they sure do have strange choices when it comes to hexes.

I mean – _Confringo_? That's a bloody _blasting_ spell!

I'm about to ask whether anyone has gone to get help, but then Violetta stirs a little. After that she groans slightly, and then, thank Merlin, she raises her eyelids slightly. I hover over her, so she's able to see my face. Watching how she slowly comes to her senses, I start waving with my hand.

"Violetta? You awake, yeah?"

"Umm." I can't make out whether her eyes are narrowed, because she's unable to open them or because the first thing she sees is the girl who 'stole' her boyfriend. "Why... the fuck... are _you_... hanging over me?"

I guess it's the latter. "Because I'm into girls now, honey."

"_What_?"

"Because I was checking if you were dead, you stupid twat," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

She does something that sounds like a snort, but I suppose she's too ladylike to do it properly. "I'm too pretty too leave this world!"

"Yes, Violetta. I'm sure that when an earthquake occurs it's going to exclude you _just_ for your looks," I say cruelly, standing up and looking at her pathetic form in distaste. Eloise should've hexed her worse.

Speaking of which.

Eloise is still watching the scene with utmost surprise painted on her features. Apparently she doesn't hex people too often, but I didn't expect her to either. She seemed more like the pacifist type to me. Because she's clearly at loss for sense right now, I leave Violetta for what she is (hoping the rest of the room follows my example and she rots on the ground) and go to check.

"You okay?"

She barely looks at me. "What did I do?! What _happened_?"

"_What happened here_?!"

A voice I don't recognise coincidentally repeats Eloise's question.

Quite an old man, whom I have never seen before, is standing in the doorway that is now not longer a doorway. From the silence that overshadows the crowd once again, I make out that his presence is not a good sign. The expression on his face barely gives off a positive vibe too. As soon as he spots Violetta, he pays no heed to the rest of the room anymore, and kneels down next to her much in the same fashion as I did before. All of us watch with fascination as he quietly performs a spell on the injured girl. As soon as he's done, Violetta magically crawls up, gripping her head with her hand.

"My head hurts," she says, states the obvious.

Not able to hold my tongue, I snidely remark: "Were you trying to use your brain or something?"

"Oh, shut up, you ugly – "

"So this is the results of _your_ hands?" The old man interrupts annoyingly, eyes fixed on me.

Oh, great. Just put Rose in the clichéd Am-I-Going-To-Save-My-Own-Butt-Or-Am-I-Obliged-To-Get-My-Friend-Off-The-Hook-position. Thank you, sir. Thank you very fucking much.

"Uh – "

"No!" Eloise intervenes dramatically. "It was me!"

If I was living a movie, music would now break out.

"Good." The old man glares subtly at both Violetta and Eloise. "You two, come with me. And yes," he says to Violetta, "you can walk now."

Eloise glances at me fearfully and I give her two thumbs up. When she passes me I put a hand on her shoulder and smile: "You're a legend, Eloise. I thought you were _brilliant_!"

She seems a tad comforted by my words, but still leaves the room quite uneasily. Violetta, who unfortunately is indeed able to walk perfectly, struts with her head held high, not making herself very popular, if you ask me. Apparently everyone else thinks the party's over by now, because the rest starts leaving our dorm one by one. I let out a sigh of relief, and then start wondering what spell will fix this mess.

* * *

"Did you _read_ this assignment?"

"No, I'm alphabetical. Can't you tell?"

"Oh, knock it off already! Do you _realise_ what this project contains?"

"Something medically complex, I assume."

"Read the damn thing, you twat!"

"You don't call men twa – "

"READ IT!"

The next morning, my life clearly isn't on a better roll. Instead of sleeping off the night that occurred earlier, progressing Eloise's new persona and all that, someone woke me up rather brutally by nearly blasting the very recently fixed door (although 'knocking loudly' might be a better term.) To my surprise I noticed that Albus was already gone, so I presumed he forgot both his key and our password. I walked out of my bed with my hair ruffled and my rather skimpy sleeping attire, completely unaware of the fact that it wasn't Albus playing alarm clock.

Oh, no.

That's not _my_ kind of luck.

Instead I suddenly stood eye to eye (or eye to shoulder, if you will) with Malfoy, whose hair wasn't ruffled and whose clothes were neatly covering the entire length of his legs, waving a few old parchments in my face. Upon seeing that I was alone, he commented lightly how convenient this was and proposed to start our project right away.

Merlin, I hate his guts. _And_ his cologne.

"Alright, so it does look kind of difficult."

"Kind of difficult?" I gape at him in disbelief. "_Kind of_? Did you actually _register_ the words on the paper?"

He puts on his very masculine Nothing-A-Man-Like-Me-Can't-Do-Expression. "It's just a little... unusual. It's like a riddle – didn't you _love_ riddles?"

"Yes, I love riddles. Just the fact that you're the one I have to solve is with is quite the downer."

"I must be so special," he remarks drily.

"You must be," I say, irritated. "Now," I rip the parchment from his hands, "let's get started. We have a case of someone whose body is almost entirely crushed, about thirty bones broken – "

"Do we _really_ have to do this now?" Malfoy whines, balancing his chair on two legs.

I moan softly. "What _else_ are you here for?"

Okay, so sometimes I'm stupid and sometimes my mind doesn't work as quickly as it should, and the issue is that I always realise this a little too late – exactly at the point where I find Scorpius Malfoy ogling me with a devious look that clearly states something I don't want it to state.

"I can think of a few things," he mentions suggestively, cocking an eyebrow.

He _must_ be joking. "How can you even say that?"

"Quite easily, actually. You just open your mouth and pronounce – "

"Oh _really_? You are _so_ illuminating. You just taught me how to talk. Congratulations, Malfoy, well done!"

He merely smirks at my comment. I may hate that even more than when he doesn't reply. For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted him to reply – unless I Silencio'd him – simply because it was such a habit. Me and him, bickering the stars away.

Therefore, I snipe, "What are you smirking at?"

"Nothing," he responds in all his infantile, balancing-on-two-legs glory.

Some habits are hard to kick, I muse lightly, thinking about the fair share of fights we've had in the past. But then I take another look at him – the lines of his face, the paleness of his skin – and suddenly the musing is not too light anymore. Because _he_ was the hardest habit to kick. Not the bickering, not the fights, not the make-ups, not even the making-outs. Just... him _being_ there.

And damn it.

It makes me so, so angry to simply look at him and remember the way I cried my soul out during the Summer, hoping and wishing and desperately _needing_ him to show up and explain to me, just _explain,_ why this ridiculous fairytale had ended so drastically, so _harshly_, and why he didn't think I was good enough to stay faithful to. It makes me angry, because I went from euphoric to demoralised to painfully bitter, and he seemingly hasn't altered one single bit.

He's just sitting there. Balancing on two legs of his chair, smirking at me.

"You're thinking about me," he says casually, hitting the nail right on the head.

Flashes of Eloise's theory about my 'Scorpius Face' go through my head. "Yes. I also write your name with little hearts around it in my books."

"You wouldn't be the only one."

I gag ostentatiously. "_My_ sanity isn't questionable."

So that was a total lie. Sue me.

"Neither is theirs," he goes on arrogantly.

"Who are we talking about anyway?"

Why am I even _asking_ this? _Damn_ my bloody curiosity!

"Well, there's this pretty cute girl in our class who's always staring at me..."

_Pretty cute._

Not that I care, but – I haven't dated _anyone_ since him, so he shouldn't either. And he shouldn't be calling girls 'pretty cute', especially when they like to stare at him. He should be locking himself up, hiding that 'pretty cute' face of his behind a curtain, drinking himself in delirium, because he misses me and knows that he'll never get me back.

Alas, the boy has no heart, as we've established by now.

"Great." I avoid his gaze carefully. "We should really start now."

"But there's so much time left!"

"_Malfoy_," I give my best impression of professor McGonagall. "Listen to me. You're here because of a project, not because we're friends, or even _acquaintances_. As far as I'm concerned you're merely a number, an _anonymous_ number, and I have no interest in getting to know you again. Got it?"

It happens quickly and fleets almost immediately, but there is something in Malfoy's all too familiar piercing eyes that implies a deeper feeling – a flicker of emotion, perhaps even hurt. Of course this doesn't work so well with my earlier No-Heart-Theory, but I recognise it, and I could swear it was there.

"Harsh, woman," he recovers, schooling his features back into a smirk. "Are you always this unkind, or is that just something specially reserved for me?"

I can't believe this. How can he _keep_ this facade?

"Would you just stop? Or do I have to throw _another_ drink on you?"

"Stop _what_?"

"Stop _pretending_!" And then, when he apparently still refuses to acknowledge the facts, the words are burning on my tongue. "Stop pretending we're sixteen again! We're _not_, alright? We're _eighteen_ and we have a past and it was _you_ who ruined that story!" My voice increases. "This rubbish act of yours is getting us nowhere. Don't you _see_?" I shove my chair backwards, stand upright. "We are _damaged_, Malfoy. We are fucking damaged, because you left me in the hospital and _never_ came back! You just _left_ me there, and the last thing I heard about you was how you _shagged_ another girl!" Breathe in, breathe out. "What did you _expect_? Tell me – _what_ did you expect?"

And now he looks stupefied, and that _flicker_ is back.

"I don't... I don't know what – "

"Just leave, okay?" The way he stares at me is electrifying. He _needs_ to go. "We'll do this some other time. I really don't want to see you now."

"Yeah," he mumbles, and stops balancing on two legs. His chair comes down with a loud thud, and with a trail of cologne following him, he walks out of the room.

And then he's gone – and I'm left, feeling like an idiot.

* * *

Blah, blah, blah. You know the drill.

-Josephinee, The Review Parasite


	8. Eight

Hello my dear readers! I'm just posting up a chapter before I dive right into hell for the next few days (a hell called MATH). That's right, I'm in the middle of my exams right now, so if you feel like being friendly and wishing me good luck, it's always welcome (and I'll need it).

Furthermore I have been listening to 'Blindsided' by Bon Iver while I writing this the entire time. It's really inspiring. You should look it up, if you want to!

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

* * *

**EIGHT**

Two days later I have finally managed to snatch Eloise and drag her to the lunch table. She didn't come to class yesterday, leaving me stranded with strangers, also worrying me somewhat. When I went looking for her in the evening, I realised I don't know where her dorm is. Albus tried to charm the lady behind the desk into giving him her room number, but apparently he didn't have enough tricks on his sleeve to pull it off. When I asked him if he'd given the I Need To Borrow A Book Excuse an attempt, he'd dumbly shook his head, to which I'd replied with a sigh. Luckily she was present today – looking a little dejected, but present all the same.

"Hide and seek is over, G.I. Jane," I say as a conversation-opener, "where have you been?"

"Locked up in my room, contemplating all possible ways to commit suicide?" she suggest brightly, taking a bite from her sandwich.

I can't help but frown slightly. "Okay, considering you're not capable of sarcasm, that statement is kind of disturbing."

"It was a joke," she says with her mouth full. I can see why she didn't like etiquettes back in France. "Although I _have_ been locked up in my room."

"Was the showdown with Violetta that bad?"

"Oh, yes," she confirms gravely, "it was horrible. That old man yelled at us, at _me_, for about half an hour, and after that he told us there'd be _consequences_."

"Consequences," I repeat with a certain degree of disgust in my tone, "Merlin, that is _so_ typical. You're bloody eighteen. You're old enough to decide whether it's responsible to Confringo someone or not! You don't need consequences for your actions!"

I sound like Louis when he was physically fourteen and mentally six. But what the hell – this girl hexed Violetta for me, and by the looks of it, she needs some cheering up.

"Exactly!" she exclaims loudly. When a few heads turn our way, she blushes, and continues in a softer voice: "Want to know what my punishment is?"

"Don't say detention or I'll engage myself in a never-ending laughing fit," I grimace.

"Worse!" There's with the exclamation mark again. "I have to clean halls with her. Like, every five days for the next months!"

"That's _rubbish_," I utter, dumbfounded. "They actually give punishments like _that_ in the L.W.U.?"

"To stimulate unexpected collaboration," she rolls her eyes, and that's the first time I've seen her do that.

I huff. "You know what I really hate?"

"Spill the beans."

"When people expect you to suddenly be friends with everyone when you're of age! Never noticed that? The way they all say: "When you grow up, you'll get a job, and you'll also have to work with people you don't like?""

Seriously. They do that. It's annoying, and bothersome, and it makes you want to yell out that, face it, no matter how much you 'grow up', there'll always be people you don't like and will be unable to work with.

"Yes! I did!" I've never seen Eloise so worked up about something. "I mean, take Violetta for example. The things she says to you about something so... delicate! I can't believe you never physically assaulted her in all those years!"

Well, that makes two of us. "Like, pushing her off the stairs or something?"

"Like breaking her nose with your fist."

"Well," I start out laconically. "what's the point of breaking her nose if she'd just go and buy new one?"

Eloise breaks into giggles, and I'm happy I'm the reason for it. I mean, she had my back when I was about to Avada Violetta, so making her laugh is the least I can do. On the scale of friendship duties that's still quite unbalanced, but alright. I'll bake her cookies when Albus finally takes the time to teach me how to do that.

Speaking of which. "Oh Eloise, by the way, I reckon you should stop by our dorm later. Albus was actually _worried_ about you."

"Really?"

Something in her eyes light up.

Okay – _not_ a good sign.

"It was probably me who made him feel like there was something off about you," I shrug, not wanting to instil hope in the girl.

Don't get me wrong. I like Eloise very much and I love Albus to death. I just wouldn't advise another, non-blood-related girl to love him to death too. That last term is mostly the thing they dramatically wish upon him once he's done with them, and I like the setting we're currently at. I wouldn't want a bitter Eloise at one end of the stick and a nonchalant Albus at the other.

Then again, perhaps Albus has gotten a little wiser too...

"Still, it's really nice of him." The way she says this almost sounds dreamy. "Is it okay if I go looking for him now?"

I grant her with a meaningful look. "He's at the Quidditch field. But props to you if you want to go and venture yourself in a one metre radius of him and his sweat."

"I'll tell him you said hi," she smiles.

This is heading right to _disaster_.

I'm telling you.

* * *

The rest of the week passes by peacefully. Actually, if you want to get strict about it, a little too peacefully. Because, in case you forgot, I have to do a project. With Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy. The boy who cheated on me and abandoned me, and whom I gave a little piece of mind the last time I saw him. Problem is that, no matter how content I am with this way of settling things (_not_ settling them, that is), those few parchments are still lying on my desk, untouched, practically screaming at me to start solving the case. Now, it is fairly easy to ignore screaming parchment if said screams are produced by your own deluded mind, but lately Eloise and Albus have both been urging me to get it on with. Imagine – _Albus_ reprimanding _me_ about homework. That's the world turned upside down for you.

Everything around me is like one, big sign now.

Albus telling me to start my project? Albus and Eloise being somewhere at this moment, leaving me all by myself? The instructions lying on my desk – pontifically, pompously?

I can't even read a book without feeling guilty! Ugh – at least this proves I'm not adopted.

My mind is in complete vacillation. I either spend another few days pacing up and down my room, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my head that I should take responsibility, or I go to face Malfoy, who'll undoubtedly mock my former hissy fit. Of course Malfoy is the least attractive option, but then again, it's not like the choice will be mine for much longer. It is a school project, after all. It defines my _future_. Oh sweet Merlin, I cannot _believe_ that my future will depend on whether I'm brave enough to drag my cowardly butt to some stupid ex-boyfriend!

Inhale.

Exhale.

Get your act together. Go to Malfoy's dorm. Bring your wand in case you want to pay a visit to Azkaban. Put on something nice so you don't feel entirely inadequate. And maybe take a shower too.

_Right_.

I walk towards my closet, pick out a dress that doesn't breathe sex but isn't too professional either (he can't get the wrong idea, but he _does_ have to be reminded of what he's missing), and then go into the bathroom. I steal a glance in the mirror before I step in the shower and decide I'm not looking too bad. I turn on the hot water and close my eyes while it sooths me.

Water has always soothed me.

While squeezing empty my bottle of shampoo, I begin to think about Malfoy, and how everything currently leads back to him. It's ironic how, right at the moment I wanted to start over, start with a clean slate, he appeared back into my life, like a sign, a declaration that I wasn't supposed to have my fresh start just yet. Everything runs around in circles – circles he's the centre of. The way I spent the last few days stuck in a dilemma over a project. The way Eloise has to spend the months cleaning halls with Violetta. The way Violetta has become such a bitch over the last year. The way I am taking a shower to straighten my hair our and smell like a breath of spring. It all takes us back to _him_.

And he soothed me too.

We used to go outside when it rained. We'd be sitting in our common room, each reading a book the other had recommended, and then one of us would notice the clattering sound of raindrops against the window, and lead the other out of the castle, just near the Great Lake. I can still recall me screaming my lungs out, at the top of my vocal ability, how he was a bastard and an idiot and _just_ like broken record – and I how I lost my heart that day. I guess we both thought about that moment a lot, seeing as we never let it go and repeatedly attempted to bring back that feeling. That feeling of losing yourself to someone else. When it rained, we went outside and twirled around and he always kissed me passionately with his hands tangled in my hair.

And the reason why I'm still remember this is that we're unfinished business.

That's the problem.

I step out the shower, putting a towel around my body with bad grace. Stepping out of a shower is like stepping right back into reality. Ever noticed that? You go from warmth to cold, with total lack of in-between stage. Honestly – a shower is a metaphor for life. Good things always come to an end.

But then I want to hit myself.

I can't believe I'm comparing _life_ to _showers_.

Just when I've started to perform a drying spell on my hair, I hear knocking coming from the door in the little hall. I curse myself for not remembering that I asked Eloise to come by earlier. I yell a muffled 'Wait a sec' while wrapping the towel tighter. I hurry out of the bathroom, into the hall, a trail of drips following behind me.

I turn down the door handle. "Sorry, Eloise, I totally forgot you were – "

_Ahem. _

"This kind of feels like déjà-vu," Malfoy mutters, staring at me.

I transfer my eyes to the ground, embarrassed. "Kind of does."

And not the fun kind either, I want to add.

"Uh... So you were expecting Eloise?" He asks awkwardly, clearly for the sake of conversation.

Too caught off guard, I'm unable to come up with a sarcastic comeback. "Yes."

"Oh."

And then there's an uncomfortable silence.

With his stare still glued to my body.

"So," I clear my throat. "What are you doing here?" and then as an afterthought, "Stop imagining me naked. It's creepy."

"I wasn't imagining you naked," he drawls indignantly, swiftly looking at me face now.

"That still doesn't clarify what you're doing here, does it?" I remark, feeling terribly self-conscious.

"Well, I..." He pauses momentarily. "Can I come in for a second?"

Deciding I'm of age and bound to grow up sooner or later, I step aside with a sour expression, holding my towel so it doesn't move one inch. He walks inside with an attitude so full of unease, it's almost painful for me. Malfoy doesn't do unease. He's always at ease. That's just who he is.

"I came to apologise," he mumbles, not looking at me at all now.

I stop dead in my tracks. "... _What_?"

"You were right the other week. I was totally out of line." This time his eyes are cast downwards, not mine. "I mean – we're not sixteen anymore. I just... I guess I just wanted to believe that... maybe we could pretend, and things wouldn't be..." He trails off, and I wonder if he wants me to finish his sentence.

"Painful?"

"Painful", he confirms. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you that much..."

I don't know what to say. So I end up saying nothing.

"I'll be your anonymous number, okay?" He tries. "If you want to. We can act like strangers and not fight?"

"For the sake of the project," I reply dumbly, and even though it was intended to come out as a question, it is rather a statement.

He nods. "After that we can ignore each other for the rest of our lives."

"Great, 'cause I'm not forgiving you," I say this rather firmly. "I mean... fuck, you just... you _know_ what you did, and – "

"Whoa! _Brilliant_ setting here!"

That's _not_ Malfoy.

"Okay, so I'm taking off," Malfoy says when he spots a grinning Eloise.

"See ya," my French Sidekick greets, saluting him. She's totally breaking the girlfriend code by being so nice to him, but I let it slide and smile at her.

I wonder briefly if I'm happy that he's gone, but when I realise what I'm doing, I let the thought go and tell myself I'm relieved that he's gone.

* * *

"Unfinished business, you say?"

Eloise is sitting on my bed, mindlessly flipping through a magazine. Dried and dressed, I just told her about my earlier thoughts concerning Malfoy. I have the feeling this girl is trustworthy and clever, and perhaps she even has something sensible to say about all of this.

"I didn't see him for more than two months after he abandoned me in the hospital," I go on. "Things were left unspoken."

"Maybe you don't feel like he got what he deserved," she offers.

"It's _certain_ I don't feel like he got what he deserved."

She puts the magazine aside, focuses on me with blue eyes. "Do you still love him?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just answer the question. Do you still love him?"

"... No."

"In that case," she scoots closer to me, putting an arm around me in a congenial fashion, "perhaps it's time to get even."

"Even?"

"It's not in my nature to screw people over... but what he did to you was so low, and so heartless, that someone should give him a taste of his own medicine."

This is starting to sound interesting. "You're saying...?"

"What about revenge?"

* * *

Okay, so mathematical integrations are waiting for me.  
Think about me while you're having fun.

Ciaaoo

-Josephinee


	9. Nine

Olaa everyone. Sorry for the long absence. Hope you're still interested and all.

1) Go read 'The Missing Chapter' in case you haven't yet. Scorpius all the way.  
2) I actually did fail math. I suck.  
3) I am now the self-proclaimed president of the Edward Norton fan club. I know this has absolutely nooothing to do with my story, but just out of interest, do you guys have any favourite actors or actresses...?

**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended, yada yada yada.

* * *

**NINE**

"So revenge… What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Well," Eloise looks at me with a contemplating frown, "I was thinking in the somewhat more… physical area."

I copy her face. "Like, shag him and leave him afterwards?"

"That's a not too subtle way to put it."

"You're not being subtle either, so why should I?"

Eloise chuckles. "Whatever. You don't have to shag him if you don't want to. Just make him see what he's missing."

Funny that she mentions it. That's something I try to do every time I'm meeting up with him. Look my best, talk my best, walk my best even – just to make him see that he's actually lost something valuable. Not that there aren't girls out there who are a lot more appealing than I am, but the least I can do is not be _bleak_.

"You think he still loves you?" Eloise asks when I don't reply.

I shrug. "How can I know he _ever_ loved me after what he pulled on our graduation party?"

"He must have, at some point," she says, "I mean, didn't you guys date for, like, eight months?"

"Those eight months seem fairly trivial now."

I wonder if that's a lie. Those eight months have been occupying my mind more than they haven't during the summer. There wasn't a second I didn't rehearse in a sad attempt to find out what went wrong, where it went wrong – and really, _how_ it went wrong, that's something I unfortunately already know.

"You're just bitter," Eloise murmurs.

"With good reason," I point out.

"True," she admits, "but let's get back to where we started. We need a _plan_. That's where _you_ come in."

"What are you talking about?" I exclaim, full of indignance. "You're the one who came up with the scheming! Now finish it!"

"What's going on here?"

Both Eloise and I are startled when a third, masculine voice suddenly interrupts our conversation. This time it's Eloise's future lover and my always-has-been-best-friend, the infamous ladies man Albus Severus Potter. He's leaning against the doorframe with his arms loosely folded in the same goofy way he does everything, grinning his stupid, ever so typical lopsided grin.

"Nothing," Eloise and I say simultaneously, as on a cue.

Albus makes a reprimanding sound while walking towards the bed. "Spill it."

"I think the 'nothing' _might_ have indicated that we don't want to you know, Albus," I say snidely.

"Well, maybe he can help," Eloise tries. "He's a _boy_, after all."

Albus coughs, "Don't you mean _man_?"

Eloise smiles, I snort. Not wanting to trail off the subject, I decide to tell him what the fuss is about. "I want to teach Malfoy a lesson. Let him know that two can play that game and all."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean... getting involved in a long relationship and then sleep with someone else?"

"We can just cut the relationship part," I offer.

Albus shrugs and sits down next to me. "Yeah well, shouldn't be too hard to get the bloke to fall in love with you again."

"Oh no," I pipe up, "it's just _the staying faithful_ part that he can't deal with."

"Listen up, Rosie. Just use him. You have to do a _project_ with the idiot, for Merlin's sake. How hard can it be?"

"Yeah... You're right."

Because, _really_. How hard can it be?

* * *

A few days later it happens again.

Head-on collision – Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy in the middle of a hallway.

It happens unexpectedly, suddenly, out of the blue. As always. I'm walking with Eloise on my left, discussing the latest book I've read, telling her she should read it as well, and she's telling me that she doesn't read that much, and then, when we turn around the corner – _wham_! There's a strong force exerted on my body and before I know it I look down in bafflement and see all the books I was carrying under my arm, sprawled all over the floor.

The first thing I see when I look back up is, naturally, cold grey.

I wonder if I'll ever get used to this.

"Hi," he says in a long-stretched drawl, "... Rose."

I'm never getting used to this.

"You're supposed to pick up my books," I remark casually.

He smirks. "Is that so?"

"We're strangers," I remind him. "When stranger 1 bumps into stranger 2, stranger 1 always picks up stranger 2's books. Especially if the first is a boy and the latter a girl. Rules of the universe."

"I'm leaving you guys alone," Eloise comes in between, giving me a look that screams REMEMBER OUR PLAN, and runs off. I try to grab her arm, but unfortunately I'm too late, and thus stuck with this... waste of space.

"So," Malfoy picks the thread right back up, not paying Eloise any heed, "I'm sorry to be the one who has to break it to you – but your theory is quite flawed. Or at least it doesn't apply to _me_."

I roll my eyes. Noteworthy how I find myself in a state of perpetual remembrance each time I meet this boy.

"What I'm trying to say is... I'd never pick up a stranger's books," he continues. "_Ever_."

"Don't you get bored sometimes?" I ask him, already annoyed. "Listening to yourself, acting like a tosser all day long?"

His smirk expands. He lifts his hand, uses his index finger and thumb to trail over the lower side of my face. I shiver involuntarily, his touch as familiar as it's alienated, and I'm almost down on my knees wishing for him not to notice.

"If we really were strangers," he says lowly, "you wouldn't know how I act normally."

"If we really were strangers," I strike back, slapping away his hand, "you wouldn't be touching me like that."

"That would be a fair point, except for the fact that I _would_."

"You sicken me."

He shrugs. "Strangers don't sicken you. Especially the ones that look like _me_."

"Well, then you'll be very sorry to hear that _arrogance_ does," I snap.

He wears the same apathetic expression he always likes to carry around, and it's not likely to change. "Whatever. We made a deal, remember? We don't know each other. We have no names. We have to do a project together and that's where the line's drawn."

"I'm aware, yes," I say tightly. "Good thing I'm the one who came up with it."

"Let's act upon it, then," he replies, and it enervates me to no end that he's once again pretending to be the mature one.

"Great," I mutter between gritted teeth, "Tonight. We're going to find the ingredients."

And then, without even a hint of goodbye (a wave? A smirk? A nod? ... none of it), he turns around, walks off in the same direction Eloise has gone earlier. I briefly consider calling his name, but decide against it as his tall figure disappears out of my sight.

My life with him is not a circle – that dawns upon me now.

I thought it was, because everything leads back to him. But this doesn't happen as smooth or _sensibly_ as a circle would make you believe. It is only logical that everything goes back to where it comes from in a circle. It makes sense. But Malfoy and I? Everything I felt for him? The way he treated me, the way I treated him? That doesn't. Make sense, I mean. It's as irrational as flying pigs, if you think about it.

My experiences with Malfoy are more like a straight road heading to a wall of bricks.

Bound to leave you in a fractured version of yourself.

It occurs to me that I'm still standing in the exact same spot I was when he walked away. I stare at the ending of the hallway, where he vanished, and replay the way he went, hands in his pocket, his fancy robes flowing behind him – arrogance dripping right from the top of his white head down to his dragon leather expensive shoes. I replay the way he ran towards me in the rain just before declaring his love for me. I replay the way he walked out of the hospital and never came back.

_Liar_.

This time it won't be _me_ crashing into the wall.

It won't be _me_, fractured and crying and wondering, wondering, always fucking _wondering_.

Just watch it.

* * *

That night I find Malfoy waiting for me outside next to the forest where we're supposed to find the material we need. The former bright air has already transformed into a darker version of itself, there are no birds, and it's quite chilly. He is no longer wearing the obligatory robe, but a nonchalant leather jacket I once told him I liked. We bought it together on a trip in Muggle London, and even though he hesitated greatly at first, he started to wear it on a permanent basis in his spare time.

"The jacket, huh?" I say as a greeting, which goes easier than I would've thought.

He raises an eyebrow in mock-surprise. "How'd you know about this jacket?"

"Oh, _right_," I say, thinking about the whole _strangers_ deal.

"So did you figure anything out yet?"

I look at him. "About the case?"

"Yeah."

"No, not really."

He looks back at me. "Why not?"

'_Cause it reminded me too much of you. _

"Don't know," I shrug half-heartedly, "been busy with other stuff, I guess."

"I see."

Silence befalls us as we go further into the forest. Ever had those relationships – love or friendly wise – with people where you feel like you have a world of words to tell them, and then after a while you lose sight of each other, and that world slowly disappears? As if – your bond dilutes and the things you want to say go down with it?

Yeah, well.

Theories come pretty easily. Saying that I want to make Malfoy see what he's missing is simple. Making plans for revenge requires absolutely no effort. Yet, with everything that's happened standing between us like an invisible frontier, it is actually really difficult to act like normal strangers, who have normal conversation over normal nothings.

What do I say to this wizard?

"I looked it up." He's the one to break it. "I went to the library yesterday."

"Yes?"

And then he spirals into a torrent of explanation, filling exactly eleven minutes of the evening.

It's a start. A neutral one at that.

"That basically means aconite to start with, right?"

"Yeah," he says, "we can find it in the left centre of the forest. Found that information in a book."

I don't bother to reply, and it doesn't take us long to find the plant. It's also called _monkshood_, and I can now see why – the shape of the flowers somewhat resembles monk's cowl. It's highly poisonous, but it helps massaging aching joints. Malfoy and I both use our wands to unroot it, dropping it right into a vacuumed bag. It keeps us busy and the quicker I work, the less my mind's on the fact that it's just the two of us and we could do about anything we want now.

"So you still read Muggle literature, then?" He asks suddenly, not shifting his eyes from the plant.

I frown. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Well, I saw _Crime & Punishment_ lying on the floor earlier," he mutters.

"Yeah – don't tell me, I _know_ I've read it too many times before."

He chuckles slightly. "Raskolnikov _is_ quite an interesting character, you know."

"Exactly," I nod, "I mean, his mental struggling is so tangible, and it's like you discover a new motive every time you read the story, isn't it?"

"I _know_," he agrees enthusiastically. "So you finally bought it?"

"No, borrowed it from the library, _again_."

"You ought to get it then," he says.

And then, at the moment where silence would've popped up once again, I get this surge of inspiration. There's this tiny, infinitesimal moment I look up from the aconite, bring my attention to him, and realise that there are still things to tell him. Because in the end, it wasn't just the physical aspects that drew me to him. I talked to him. He talked to me. We had _great_ conversations.

"Did you read _Notes from the Underground_?"

When he sees I've stopped unrooting the plant, he stands up. "Come on, we've got other ingredients to find." And as he stretches his hand towards me, "Of course I did. Don't you think it's _the_ beginning of existentialism?"

I take his hand.

"Yeah, I totally did."

I guess it's okay to be strangers for a while.

_Maybe_.

* * *

I am officially the most uninspired fanfiction author of the moment.  
Quite sad.

Josephinee The Review Parasite


	10. Ten

Ello, everyone. I wrote this all in one go, so if you spot mistakes, pray-tell!  
It's also slightly longer than the former chapters, so hooray for me. And you, in case you actually like what I write.

****

Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**TEN**

The week that follows passes quite uneventfully. I wake up, go to class, do well in class, get to know a few class mates, work on whatever the professors tell us to do. Most of the time I eat my lunch with Eloise and Albus, and lately our little crew has expanded little by little – Albus' teammates, the new friends Eloise and I made. Everything rolls on like it's supposed to, which makes me feel content, and given as I'm also very busy with school work, I don't have the time to convince myself otherwise.

Strangely enough, Malfoy isn't giving me any reason to feel bad either – other than the obvious, that is.

Just like everything else, we simply breeze by. We acknowledge each other in class and work on our project almost every night. The means we either meet up in his or my dorm, discuss the case, write down possible solutions, go to the forest or the potions lab, try and try again. The project is exhausting, brain-wise, but as for the contact between Malfoy and me, things run smoothly.

But of course – that blows up in our faces.

Thursday evening, one o'clock. We're sitting in the potions lab, as always, him currently leaning against the wall, yawning every now and then, and me hanging over the cauldron, supporting my body by planting my elbows on the wooden table. You know that feeling when you haven't been sleeping much for the last few days, and all of your energy slowly but surely drains, drop by drop, from every vein in your system?

Well, yeah.

Malfoy and I are both half-zombies for the moment.

So, right when I'm about to throw in the belladonna, the following happens:

"No, wait, Rose," Malfoys intercedes, "you've got to stir it first."

"What are you talking about, stir it first?" I ask.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Stir it? You know, _to pass an implement through a substance with circular movement_?"

"Give the boy an applause," I reply, rapidly becoming annoyed.

"Rose, it's late, I'm bloody tired, just cool it with the sarcasm and fucking stir it before you throw in the belladonna, alright?" He snaps, mirroring my emotions.

Just like old times.

And here I am – getting nostalgic over something as classic as a Rose/Scorpius argument.

"I know how to read the clock," I hiss back, dropping my movements altogether, "and I know how to stir, okay? It's just that, since you obviously lack the intelligence that comes with knowing in which order you brew this particular potion, you're supposed to throw in the belladonna _before_ you _stir_."

Unbelievable how fast this turns. All the sense of normalcy, all the sense of artificial friendship – hitting us right back in the face. It's late. He's tired. I'm tired. We're both tired. Our patience is on a short leash and we're clearly paying the price on short notice.

Malfoy is gaping at me in contemptuous disbelief, enervation written all across his pretty boy features.

"You can_not_ be fucking serious, Rose. See this?" He holds up his hand above his head. "If this was your level of wits before, then," he drops it so it almost touches the ground, "_this_ is the place you're at now." He shakes his head for good measure. "Astounding, really. Your current idiosyncrasy..."

My eyes hit the ceiling in response. "Then look it up in the fucking book, tosser."

"Oh yeah, Sherlock, 'cause we'd really be having this dispute if we'd _had_ a book," he remarks snidely.

"_How_ is it that we're brewing a potion without proper instructions?" I rub my temples, very, very fed up.

"It might surprise you, Weasley," he bites out, "but not everyone _lives_ by books."

"It might surprise you, Malfoy," I scowl, "but in the _academic_ world, you're _obliged_ to live by books."

"Oh, this is rich. Very open-minded, Rose."

"Pray-tell, you omniscient one, _how_ was that narrow-minded?"

Everything about his demeanour screams disdain at this point. "Rose, if Vesalius lived by the book, we still wouldn't know what the human anatomy looks like! If Columbus hadn't travelled the world, outside the damn book, perhaps we'd still think the earth is flat – "

I cut him off aggressively. "It was Erastothenes who came up with the idea first – "

"That's not the fucking point!" He breaks me off just as brutally.

With flaring nostrils, I spit, "Well, what _was_ the point then?"

"You were telling me how in the academic world you're – "

"Oh, sod _off_, Malfoy," I sigh loudly, "I _know_ what I said, thank you very much."

He opens his mouth, pauses momentarily and then closes it again. He walks toward the other end of the room, where he deposited his grey cashmere sweater earlier. He picks it up, catches me watching him, and opens the door of the lab.

"This," he says, "is fucking useless."

And then he walks out, slamming the door shut.

* * *

"We're back to square one."

"No, we're not."

"How isn't this square one, Eloise?"

"You're fighting! Fighting gives off sparks!"

"Oh yeah – sparks. The only sparks that come off while we're fighting will be the ones that leave my wand when I hex him into oblivion."

"We're talking about passion here, Rose!"

"Okay, maybe this is a cultural difference, but in England the word _passion_ does not equal _hate_."

Lunch table. Eloise and I are whispering feverishly, while Albus and his buddies are discussing 'that hot girl from last night', and three of our class mates are whining about the project. None of them are actually paying attention to our little conversation, but hey. Imagine a little cockroach eavesdropping, running off to Malfoy, and informing him about the Evil that is called Eloise and Rose, ruining all of our fantastically calculated plans!

(That was a joke, by the way. We've been about as calculating and cunning as, well, the bunnies my little niece Molly used to breed.)

"There's a thin line between love and hate," Eloise singsongs.

"We're not going there," I singsong.

"Oh yes we are," she singsongs.

"We're trying to hurt Malfoy, not falling back in love with him," I singsong.

"Well, it's him who needs to feel the passion, honey," she singsongs.

"Why in Merlin's name are you girls talking like that?" Albus sings -

No, wait. He doesn't. His mouth is stuffed with food and if it wasn't for the grammatical structure of his sentence, the question mark wouldn't have been clear.

"Nothing that concerns you, dearest BFF," I reply brightly.

Albus gives me the Fake Unhappy Face, with drooping puppy dog eyes, exactly the way he has mastered it over the years. "Why so secretive?"

"Why so nosy?" I counter.

"If we're BFF's," Albus quips up, "then we should tell each other _everything_."

I smile at him mockingly. "I can't, love. Unfortunately I'm designed to be an enigma."

"She just doesn't want to tell you," our very own French Captain Obvious adds.

Albus looks from me to Eloise, back and again, but soon drops the effort to weaken our defences, as apparently, our front is standing pretty solid. He groans lightly, thus accepting defeat, and mumbles, "Alright, alright. We'll change the subject."

"How was practise?" Eloise inquires nicely.

It's official.

I from now on am going to hate nice people.

"We're not going to discuss Quidditch," I protest. "I'm _sure_ it was fine."

"Great actually – " and then he sees my hostile look... "Okay, okay! But just – we have our first official match in two weeks, and I wanted to invite you two. You can have VIP seats, if you like?"

Eloise has stars in her eyes. "Of course we _like_! Don't we, Rose?"

"Are you asking the rest of the family?" I ignore her.

"Well, yeah, my dad, your dad," he says, and afterwards, a few decibels down, "and Louis, naturally..."

Aha.

Louis.

My best friend slash cousin slash the person whom I have said maybe five words to over the summer. You might find this strange. I mean – I know I do. But it just sort of fell apart. After that day in the hospital, when I yelled at him how he wasn't any better than Malfoy, something changed. It didn't work out of the blue. It just... came. When I came home after our fight, I didn't get to see him much. Albus, Louis and I used to meet up in either the Burrow or at the Potters, so when I didn't leave my room for a long time, I was quite isolated. Albus dropped in every now and then, bringing me cake and chocolate frogs in a cute but useless attempt to cheer me up, but I didn't hear a word from the other boy. When I finally swallowed my pride and asked Albus _why the fuck my best friend didn't check up on me_, he sat down on my bed and said that what I had said to Louis had gotten to him, and that, in all honesty, he probably just believed that I was still mad at him. It was a bizarre situation, and it left me wondering what in Merlin's name landed us there (... _Malfoy_, cough). We both let it slide. Neither of us (or at least that goes for me) wanted to do such thing, but it happened regardless, and that is how we spent the first month not speaking.

I think Albus hates us for this.

The second month Louis went away, on vacation. To Egypt, with his family. When they boarded off, I'd come with the rest of the Weasleys and Potters to say goodbye. At first he'd wanted to go without saying anything, but then for some strange reason he ended up standing next to me, patting my shoulder, asking me if I was alright. I told him I was fine, and wished him a great time. Then he went.

I haven't seen him since, because he came back the second day I was here.

It's stupid, really, because I missed Malfoy so bad those days, there didn't seem to be any space left to miss someone else. Yet as the days counted, I came to miss Malfoy less and less, which freed room to miss Louis instead.

So there's this gap. My very own Louis gap.

"You miss him," Albus puts a hand on my shoulder, awaking me from my thoughts.

I consider denial, but decide against it. "Yeah, but he hasn't written me yet, so..."

"So... what? You can write him," he says, irritatingly sensible.

"Okay, okay," Eloise interrupts, "stop being so serious here! Lighten up! Let's talk about something fun!"

By the looks of it, we're both inclined to go with that idea. At the same time, we exclaim, "Yes!"

Beaming at our approval, Eloise suddenly stands up and claps her hands. She successfully spikes the interest of everyone at our table and clears her throat. "Okay, everybody! Since Rose Weasley resembles a lemon today, we need something to brighten the day!" Of course, every head turns my direction. Eloise gives me an apologetic smile, and continues, "So I was thinking, let's have a campfire this Saturday!"

How... _boy scout_ of her.

Out of habit, I'm about to glower, but then I realise what she's suggesting. Evidently, our friends like the thought, as many of them immediately start cheering, and enthusiastically begin to rattle off things to bring (Butterbeer, Firewhiskey... and is that 'wood' I hear?).

I must say I'm warming up to the idea.

"Saturday night, that's a date," she winks. "But now I have to go and meet Violetta 'horse face' Chang. See you later, and Rose, bring Malfoy!"

And before I can respond, she's practically skipping out.

* * *

When later I've made a visit to the library, I'm ready to commit suicide. I'm lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, having a nice little chat with myself about how I could possibly be stupid enough to think that you have to throw in the belladonna before stirring. As I now have learned from the book, Malfoy was absolutely correct, which means I am currently facing the vision of the total and complete deterioration of my ego. There is of course a chance that I won't have to speak with him for the next few days, and thus postponing my downfall, but sooner or later I'll have to admit it.

I was wrong.

Subsequently, Malfoy was right.

Try to live with _that_.

Contemplating all the different ways to avoid Malfoy tomorrow, I close my eyes. I could go to class incognito (with sunglasses for extra show), find a fake I.D. (they have it everywhere in the states!), call myself Henrietta (because it sounds like a name they'd use in the stories), tell people I'm from Uzbekistan (that comes off mysterious, doesn't it?), charm my hair blonde (for the surprising effect). I could also live up to my mistake and admit to Malfoy that _for the first time in my life_ I'm to blame, but how can I be sure that my pride will ever survive such misery?

I mean – the horror! The utter _damnation_ of that very thought in itself!

I'm just about to start contemplating all the manners to die as painlessly as possible, when I hear a knock on my door. I crawl off my bed in a very dramatic fashion, flinging on a silk robe (which is not as attractive as it sounds), and go to welcome the person who is brave enough to talk to me while I'm getting to know new lows in my life.

"Eh, hi."

Of course, because I'm _me_ and the universe hates Rose Weasley, it is none other than Scorpius Malfoy standing on the other side of the door.

Great. Fan-fucking-tastic!

"Oh, hi, Malfoy!" I sputter, caught off guard but not really. "Fancy seeing you!"

"Yeah, well, see," he begins, his tone not _too_ arrogant, "you're probably thinking that I'm a stalker now, but I assure you, my mental state is perfectly stable."

O-kay_. Why isn't he rubbing it in my face already_? "That arguable, but yes. Go on."

"I'm here with a peace-offering," he drawls.

To say I'm stunned is an understatement. I'm certain he's playing a game. I mean, _surely_ he must've looked it up, just as I have? It's in our _nature_. We have discussions and do everything to prove that we're right.

So how come he's here with a _peace-offering_ while I'm in the wrong?

"How very... Indian of you," I comment, for lack of a better thing to say.

Of all things, he then laughs. "Yeah, I know."

"Okay," I say, immensely relieved that he's acting so friendly in this horrifying situation, "okay. We can exchange peace-offerings."

"You have one too?"

"Yeah."

He leans against the doorframe, looking at me with eyes that aren't as positively freezing as they are most of the time, a smirk playing on his lips. It occurs to me in a flash how good-looking he actually is, as prissy and perfect yet nonchalant and apathetic as his ways are. I almost slap myself for doing this – going over his better assets – but then again, how can I blame myself? I can't deny his beauty. Whatever he does, whatever stunt he pulls – you can't deny his beauty. Ever.

"I'm going first," he says, raising his hands from behind his back with a book in it. "Here."

Eyeing the book in bafflement, I take it from him. In a disbelieving tone, I nearly squeal, "You bought _Crime & Punishment_ for me?"

"Was about time you owned it, wasn't it?" His smirk broadens.

"Umthankyou," I mutter in one breath, wondering how much weirder this can get. "My peace-offering isn't quite as cool or... it's not even an object, but..."

"Doesn't matter," he shrugs.

"Well, since I have now accepted your peace-offer... we can now be peaceful strangers again... and seeing as I'd invite a stranger with whom I have a peaceful relationship to a campfire," I inhale, "I'm inviting you to a campfire Saturday."

It suddenly occurs to me that he can just as well decline. He doesn't have a reason to come with us. He doesn't really know Eloise, he's never liked Albus or vice-versa... He doesn't play the guitare, he hates mud and he hates forced socialising.

Oh, Merlin, _please_, don't turn me into a reject. My brain has already abandoned me, which is about as much as I can take for one day -

"Yeah, cool," Malfoy saves me from my own excruciating worst-case-scenarios, "we'll celebrate our peaceful stranger relationship there then."

Careful not to show my relief, I almost-smile. "Okay."

I give him a little wave as a goodbye, and just before the door is closed again, Malfoy halts it with his hand. I look at him through the small opening. "What?"

"You _do_ realise I was right, yeah?"

Oh, _shit_.

Not bothering with an answer, I wait until he removes his hand and close the door fully. I hear him laughing on the other side, clearly amused by my behaviour. Not that I blame him.

"Whatever, Malfoy," I yell, turning the key over to prevent him from coming back in. "Nobody cares about matters such as those!"

I'm a born liar.

"Yeah, except you!" He yells back.

I roll my eyes without conviction, and put my ear against the wood to hear if he's still there. Fortunately, his laughter his fading, and so are his footsteps. Taking another look at _Crime & Punishment_, I smile to myself.

At least Raskolnikov is a less terrifying subject to ponder about.

* * *

I actually like this chapter better than the former ones - don't ask me why.  
Review and spread your thoughts!

-Josephine


	11. Eleven

Cheers to everyone, especially **Lonne** for giving me the campfire idea.

As you may notice or not notice, I am still stuck in a writer's block.

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**ELEVEN**

I never believed in predestination. I never believed in fate. I never believed in damnation. I've always chosen to not believe in any of those things – driven by my mother's instilled sense of rationality and knowledge that, even though you can't control your life, you are responsible for the actions you take. I find soothing is this kind of reasoning. It makes me feel as though I'm not a mindless puppet whose strings are pulled by the universe. It makes me feel safe, just for the simple fact that I trust myself and the choices I generally make.

This, of course, stopped making sense the day I fell in love with Scorpius Malfoy.

I didn't want it. In fact, it resembled a disease more than anything else. I recall this memory vividly – the memory of me sitting in the Great Hall, in the middle of a conversation with Louis, failing to breathe at the sight of Malfoy when he entered. I still see myself skipping around my room with a smile stretching my entire face, after he'd admitted his feelings for me. That wasn't Rose Weasley. That was a _disease_.

After a while, however, I learned how to name it.

I knew what to make of my revelation, of the newfound aspect of myself. I was able to find reasons behind my love for Malfoy and I could find them behind his love for me too. The puzzle fell into place, and I fell into shameless euphoria. I told the story before – I was happy. So was he. Or at least that was the impression his hidden smiles exuded. It never actually occurred to me, that period, that maybe, just maybe, I was wrong.

I was so busy gliding that I didn't notice I fell through the ice until I was frozen from head to toe.

I was so busy trusting Malfoy to come back in that hospital, that it didn't come up in my head that he wouldn't for one second – until Louis was shoving the truth in my face.

The weeks after the incident in the hospital are easy to recapitulate. I locked myself up in my room, curtains closed, shutting out any form of daylight, not even attempting to find my energetic spirit for it felt like it was buried too deep anyway. I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep. I kept envisioning the possible scenes where I could've gone wrong, until one moment it hit me like ton of bricks that I didn't do _anything_ wrong. Albus had placed several Witch Weekly's under my door, all with some sort of reference to our failed relationship.

'WIZARDING WORLD'S VERY OWN ROMEO & JULIETTE PARTED?!'

'CONFIRMED – OUR FAVOURITE BACHELOR BACK ON FREE FEET!'

'SCORPIUS MALFOY – BACK IN HIS OLD GAME!'

And so on.

I'll tell you something. It's one thing to be cheated on by your long-term boyfriend, to hear this from someone else, and never once receive an apology.

It's another to have his _sexscapades_ rubbed in your face every week.

As I said, I never believed in predestination. But when the night before the camp fire, I dream of Malfoy and one of the tramps I saw him with in a magazine, I take it as a sign. A sign to show me that I've been forgetting about his miserable treatment of me before too much. A sign to show me that I should run to Eloise as fast as possible, to just – I don't know. To maybe tell her that we can't do this.

That I can't do this.

* * *

"Alright, _what_?"

Eloise gapes at me in disbelief. She puts her morning croissant back on the table.

"I'm not going to shag him for revenge," I repeat, exaggerating pronunciation.

She puts her hand palm to her forehead. "What happened to _make him see what he's missing_?"

"I straightened out the difference between my foolish wishes and reality."

"Screwing someone over for screwing _you_ over isn't foolish," she remarks pointedly.

I shrug, sceptically. "I went from sad to angry to bitter. I don't want to go through the first phase all over again."

"Wait, you're saying that you're not sure you're over him yet?"

I groan slightly. "I'm not saying I'm still in love with him or something. I'm not over what he _did_ to me, and it's quite a fresh memory to be honest. I'm merely afraid of what effect this little game of ours will have on _me_ – not on him."

"Look, honey," she says, leaning forward a little. "It's your choice to make. Do what makes you feel best."

I smile. "Yeah... Hey, by the way, how was your 'date' with Violetta?"

There is a slight change in Eloise's demeanour. It's so inconspicuous most people wouldn't have noticed it, but over the past month I've been spending so much time with the girl I've learned how to pick up on her little quirks.

"It was... okay," she says evasively, apparently not too keen on the subject.

Well, I can't exactly expect the girl to be thrilled about her punishment. I mean, she's cleaning halls with _Changzilla_ for Merlin's sake!

"As in, I'd rather eat my own organs than spend another day with the whore?" I suggest brightly.

She doesn't look at me. "Eh, not really... I mean, we had conversations and stuff."

"Conversations?" I raise an eyebrow in a very Malfoy-like fashion. "About what? _Nail polish_?"

"Don't act so belittling," Eloise says seriously, and I think that's the first time so far her tone towards me isn't entirely nice. "You know I'm not the type of girl to talk about nail polish."

"Which is why I brought it up," I reply, wondering where the hell this is going, "I mean, it's Violetta. Her ego doesn't leave much space for intelligence."

Eloise makes a tssk'ing sound. "Well, she did get in for Management, didn't she?"

"Oh, right, because Management isn't the easiest department to get into of all," I mumble sarcastically. "So you talked about school?"

"You're biased. And yes, we did, amongst other things."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Could you stop being so bloody cryptic?"

"Okay, if you _really_ want to know," she says testily, "we talked about you and Scorpius."

Interest peaked. "And?"

"Look, Rose," a sigh of impatience passes through her voice, "I really like you, but it seems like there are some aspects of your story that don't fit. Or that you didn't bother to tell me, at least."

Not liking the direction this dialogue is heading, I shake my head. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"You never said you stole Scorpius from her in the beginning," Eloise explains nastily. "You never said you were her friend and mistreated her by snatching her boyfriend away!"

"I can't believe you're buying that shit, Eloise," I utter, completely, entirely dumbfounded. "I didn't owe Violetta anything. If anyone owed her something, it was Malfoy, for leading her to believe he was in love with her! Their relationship was messed up long before I walked into the picture!"

"But you kissed him while they were dating, didn't you?" She counters, unimpressed by my little speech.

I frown, trying very hard to tamper down the sharp annoyance bubbling in my guts. "Well, yeah, but that was different!"

"Different in what way?"

Is this really happening? Am I asleep?

"Eloise, come on. She's manipulating you, because she _hates_ me, just like I hate her. With good reason," I say with raised volume, "You're not actually falling into her trap, are you?"

"Don't make such a big deal out of this," she mutters, looking at me like I'm a thirteen-year-old that's angry at her friend for buying a pink sweater I'd seen first, "I'm just saying that maybe you should see it from her point of view. She's not that bad."

Wait – _what_?

Refusing to feel immature, my enervation finally gets the best of me. In a very hostile way, I hiss, "Okay, Eloise. Why don't you get yourself a subscription to Witch Weekly before you go around telling me that _she's not that bad_?"

"I doubt that'll change my opinion, seeing as it's merely a tabloid."

I'll tell you something about Violetta.

After Malfoy and I got together, she made it her ultimate ambition to ridicule me at every chance she got. She found herself a small army of idiots who laughed whenever I made a mistake in class – which wasn't too often, let's be honest here – or wore clothes that weren't up to their standards. Violetta also liked to spread lies about me, and practically did this every day. Fortunately Malfoy was in possession of enough sense to blow them off, but many weren't. I can't say it bothered me all that much – because, you know, my life was pretty fantastic at that time. It merely heightened my dislike for her deceiving and envious personality.

What she did _after_ Malfoy and I broke up, well, that's something else entirely.

The first edition of Witch Weekly of the summer, had an all-exclusive, private article on the details of the fallout of our relationship. The actual story was surprisingly accurate. The names, the events, everything. The only thing that differed was that apparently, Malfoy had all the reasons in the world to cheat on me, because I didn't deserve him in the first place.

They didn't even use the term 'a close source'. No. They just said 'Violetta Chang'.

Thank you very fucking much, Violetta.

But, you know, I suppose that other than that you're _not too bad_.

"I know it's just a tabloid," I spit through gritted teeth, "but _everyone_ thought I was bitch because of it."

And then, utterly out of character, she dares to _roll her eyes_. "Come on, I'm sure it wasn't _that_ bad – "

"You know what, Eloise?" I interrupt her, taking my stuff from the table and standing up. "Grow some fucking brain cells or right judgment on human nature, and _then_ talk to me again."

And by looks of it, this doesn't happen too quickly, because she doesn't say a word when I walk away.

* * *

"I need a drink before I can go to that stupid campfire," is the first thing I say when Malfoy opens the door of his dorm.

An amused expression graces his features and his hands are typically locked away in the pockets of his trousers. "May I remind you of what happened the last time you decided you needed a drink?"

"I think we're both perfectly able to recall that memory," I respond, glancing at his bedroom. "It doesn't alter one bit of my current desire, Malfoy."

"If the lady says so," he drawls lazily, letting me in.

He gestures for me to follow him into his kitchen. I've been here before, of course, but it comes to me for the first time that even this place characterises him. It's clean and pristine and perfect and every single object looks expensive. I wonder how our house would've looked if we'd ever lived together, but I quickly catch myself and shake the thought.

"This is the finest Firewhiskey I've ever had the pleasure to pour down my throat," he comments casually, while preparing us both a glass. We stand in silence as he hands me the glass.

"That wasn't a lie," I say when I've taken my first sip. "It's excellent in taste."

He smirks briefly. "High standards."

"Overrated, arrogant rich kid," I refute.

He chuckles, but only for a second. Cool, calm and collected, as always. "I think we both can relate to that. Aside from the rich part, we're more alike than you'd like to think."

"You know my parents have plenty of money," I point out.

"That wasn't the point."

When I transfer my gaze from my glass to the wall, I notice he's watching me through the mirror with eyes that are oddly piercing and fair in this dimly lit room. "Did you have one?"

"I said we were more alike than you'd think," he repeats, and it suddenly hits me that I'm drinking Firewhiskey in his kitchen with an absolute lack of audience. "I assumed you'd contradict my statement."

I think about that for a second. I don't feel all that angry at him anymore today, despite my dream earlier, because my initial fury is projected on Eloise. It's a weirdly freeing experience.

"I wouldn't. I realised our similarities a long time ago," I inform him. "I'm just fundamentally a better person than you are."

He knows that this is the total truth. Therefore he doesn't start to dispute it, and merely holds up the bottle of Firewhiskey. "Another glass?"

I shake my head. I can't trust myself, or him for that matter, enough to stay here and let myself become a victim of an alcohol-induced daze. "I'd rather we depart now."

"As you wish," he shrugs, putting the bottle back in the cabinet. "They better have marshmallows there."

While walking towards the door again, I scowl, "I hope not."

"You are _so_ unrefined, Weasley."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Whatever."

* * *

If you have suggestions, ideas or criticism to offer, please do review and tell me so. If you just like it, do the same. I am in desperate need for inspirational words.

-Josephine


	12. Twelve

First of all: you guys were really inspiring. Thanks A LOT.

Second of all: I hearby present you my total none-artwork. A drabble of Rose & Scorpius I made in class: http:(double slash)i23(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)b395(slash)Pallazz(slash)Untitled-1(dot)jpg

**Disclaimer:** do not own.

* * *

**TWELVE**

When Malfoy and I arrive side to side at the campfire, it briefly occurs to me that people – obtuse and dim ones – _might_ get the wrong idea about our little union. Dense illusions _might_ just worm their way into those foolish minds, eager to take in any form of unfounded new rumours, thinking that – _pause, shudder, vomit_ – he and I are actually on a...

"Hey, Rose!" someone shouts from afar. "You brought a date!"

... date.

As we come nearer, I see it's one of Albus' teammates, named Sebastian, that's greeting me with this utter nonsense. He's sitting next to my cousin and is a part of quite a big circle of people that is surrounding the campfire. The forest is dark, but the flames light up the faces of all the different people, causing a cosy atmosphere in addition to the loud buzz of voices chattering. I notice that most of my class mates are present, as well as the entire Quidditch team and a few groupies of theirs. There is, of course and very, very unfortunately, also a backstabbing twat sitting there, but I choose to ignore her and turn to Sebastian.

"No, I _did not_," I reply threateningly, and then switch my tone to sugar sweet, "But hey to you too!"

Next to me, Malfoy laughs haughtily. "Nice group of friends you got there," he says, referring to the Quidditch team. "_You brought a date_," he then mimics quietly. "What are we? Eleven and afraid of boys?"

"Remind me," I mumble through teeth, pinching his forearm as a warning, "why did I bring you again?"

"You couldn't resist my good looks," he says matter-of-factly, not flinching one bit.

"It's mind-blowing how your arrogance _still_ manages to astound me."

He gives me a significant smirk. "Suck it up, love."

The underlining of that remark hits me harshly. I pinch his forearm again, only a lot more aggressive this time. I'm about to come up with the world's greatest retaliation to this insinuation, probably turning this conversation in the best sexual banter mankind has ever encountered, but then a flash cuts me off.

"What the fuck?" Malfoy says, and I suppose he would've looked bewildered if he had the ability to express surprise.

Someone from the circle with a camera holds up his hand. "Come on, you two. _Smile_!"

"These are the last fun years of our lives," someone else, a girl from my class, adds, "we have to take pictures to remind us how awesome we were when we're wrinkled and old!"

And then –

_Flash_.

_Flash_.

_Flash_.

"Mate, this would be downright unfriendly towards people who suffer from epilepsy," Malfoy states drily.

I smile my prettiest smile in case the camera goes off another time. "Drama queen."

_Flash_.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he groans. "Excuse me while I'm having a _seizure_!"

Apparently happy with the result (a nice Rose Weasley and an enervated Scorpius Malfoy – the perfect reconstruction of the people we really are), the photographer turns his lens to someone else, making Malfoy murmur a supercilious "Thank Merlin – _idiots_." As Albus gestures for me to come sit down next to him, I pull Malfoy with me and throw and arm around my best friend.

"So how is my current favourite cousin doing?"

He grins widely, as usual. "We've got loads of Butterbeer, hot girls _and_ Rose Weasley. What more do we want?"

"Drunk already?" I guess, eyeing the empty bottles in front of him.

"Maybe," the grin doesn't falter. Albus then points subtly to the blond on my left. "What's up with him? The revenge plan still in action?"

I give him a meaningful If-You-Don't-Keep-Your-Voice-Down-I-Will-Hex-You-To-Infinity glare and hiss, "He's sitting _next to me_."

"Well, he seems to be busy already," Albus shrugs.

I look what he's talking about and see that, indeed, Malfoy has moved further away from me and is talking to a girl – or should I say, _chatting her up_?

A wave of pseudo unexpected annoyance washes over me. This was not the plan. This was not even the smallest fraction of the plan. This was absolutely not what was supposed to happen. This clashes entirely with my own little mission. Malfoy shouldn't be talking to girls. He should be crying like a baby and _begging_ me on his _bare_ knees to maybe _think_ of considering to give him a second chance. But, of course, as bad luck equals my name, he is not, and therefore, engaged into what seems a very fascinating conversation.

Not that it bothers me _that much._

_I swear. _

I mean – okay. She's pretty. He's pretty. They can go off and get married on some pretty island and make pretty babies together.

How...

"Rose," Albus attempts to break me out of my reverie, "you're staring."

_Nauseating_.

I snap out of it. "Who's that?"

"Rachel," Albus responds, "she's on our team. Why do you care?"

"I obviously don't," I say as neutrally as possible.

"A drink?" He offers.

I nod eagerly. A Butterbeer or fifty wouldn't hurt. Maybe, just maybe, when I'm drunk enough, I'll forget the fact that Eloise is on the other end of the circle, looking beautiful and cheerful as always, clearly not too sober herself. I hate to be angry at friends, but I hate friends that defend Violetta Chang just a tiny bit more.

And then there's Malfoy.

Flirting with _Rachel_.

As I said – it's not that I _care_ or anything. It's just that – well, he came here with me, and five seconds later he's already moved on to someone else, if you get what I mean.

Well, what he can do, _I_ can do better.

"Lighten up," Albus says with a slight slur, handing me a cup. As I down it at once, he claps, "See! That's what I mean!"

I follow the clapping fashion. "Yes! Another one! Another one!"

I'm actually serious about it too.

"Right on!" Albus obliges, refilling my cup _and_ giving me a second one.

There is a tiny voice in the back of my mind, telling me these things usually don't end well. But hey – who am I to listen, really?

"You know what, Albus?" I begin. "I'm going to get to know someone new!"

"I don't think you'll have to sta – "

A third, familiar voice with an American accent intercedes. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

I look up.

And stare.

"Oh, no," I blink. "You're _definitely_ not."

_Hello_ there.

You know the kind of people from the opposite sex, or the same if you're into that kind of thing, that appear into your vision and _instantly_ activate the hypophysis of your brain in the most pleasant way ever? Yeah, well. Enter the boy standing in front of us, looking all golden-haired and tanned and smiley and polite and perfect.

"I just thought – we're in the same class, and," he pauses momentarily, "I don't know you yet. Mind if I sit down?"

We're in the same class? _What the hell?_

How could I have not noticed this great piece of eye-candy? How is this _humanly possible_?

"Of course not!" I extend my one hand enthusiastically while taking another cup with the other.

Then there's a dilemma. Do I either:

A) introduce myself so he would too and thereby learn his name, coming off like a broom whipped my head over, seeing as he just mentioned we're in the same class and thus knows my name?

Or:

B) don't introduce myself and simply refrain from calling him anything?

"Hi, I'm Matthew Evans," he says formally, shaking my hand and sitting down between Malfoy and me (not that the loser would notice.) "But you can call me Matt."

Oh, the boy is psychic too!

I bet it's one of those assets that come extra with Americans. Like a Buy-Two-And-Get-The-Third-For-Free sale.

"Nice to finally meet you, Matt," I'm all million dollar smiles as he keeps shaking my hand, "My name is Rosaliniana Weasley, but you can call me Rose."

"Is your name _really_ Rosaliniana?" He asks playfully, dimples setting out on his face.

"..."

"I just never heard it's before. Pretty unique if you ask me."

I cough. "Okay. It's not. It's just Rose."

I sounded a lot funnier in my head, I'll give you that.

Fortunately, he seems to find the joke in my humour too and laughs in bit of a high-pitched-but-still-manly way. "Cute."

"So," I pipe up, becoming more and more interested. "Tell me something about yourself!"

"What's there to tell?" He asks, putting on a thinking mask.

I shrug. "Where you're from for example."

"Well, I'm from Boston, for one," he says, using those overly pronounced r's, "Know where that is exactly?

"Matt, we're at the L.W.U. I think _everyone_ here knows where Boston is."

Alright, Rose.

What a _Malfoy-like_ thing to say.

"I can imagine," there's no change in his face, so he didn't catch up on my small slip of utter arrogance, "It's only sensible, as there's a Wizarding school there. Hey, are you cold? It seems that you're shivering a bit."

How thoughtful of him!

I am indeed cold. When we got here, the temperature was nice and balmy, but as time rolls on, the airs cools down and the wind breezes through my sweater. Goosebumps are slowly forming on my skin.

"I'll give you my jacket if you want to," Matt says with the everlasting smile. "Not that the fabric's that thick, but it'll probably warm you – "

"Oh, no, I've got it from here, mate."

You've _got_ to be kidding me.

The slightly, diplomatically threatening, drawling voice. The smell that engulfs my senses. The cashmere that's being draped over me.

It's all so, _so_ distinctly and disturbingly _Malfoy_.

As I tilt my head I find him looking back to forth between Matt and me, disdain written all over his aggravatingly beautiful face. His eyebrow is only somewhat cocked, his lips are set in a thin line, his metal-coloured eyes are even colder than they usually are. Everything about him hollers disapproval.

Well. I've got news for you, Malfoy.

It's _not_ my fucking problem this time.

"No, you don't," I object in a tone that would freeze a desert.

I shake off his stupid, fancy sweater and hand it back to him. When I catch a glimpse of Matt, I see that he's watching the exchange with mild fervour. It's almost as if he's trying to figure out our relationship – in complete vapidity that our relationship is way too complex to ever figure out, even for ourselves.

(Not a good thing, by the way. Not at all.)

"I see," Malfoy replies in an even frostier voice. I can just _feel_ that he's dying to spew an insult at the both of us, but he doesn't. "In that case, enjoy the rest of your night. I'll just return to what I was doing."

And we both know he's subtly referring to Rachel.

Matt, poor naive soul, nods politely, apparently not taking any offense. I, on the other hand, simply watch him stonily as he goes away.

"So," Matt restarts, "where were we?"

I shake Malfoy from my mind. "You old school. So tell me..."

* * *

I'm drunk.

Again.

Just like every single person in this forest.

There's is something not-so-strangely alluring to this particular daze. It warms you up, it loosens you, it makes you abandon all uncomfortable feelings, it makes you want to do mental stuff and not think about anything even remotely straight. People grow more attractive – their laughter like music, their talking becomes the most refreshing thing in the world, their touches are more welcome than they would be otherwise.

If I tell you now that Matthew Evans, handsome American extraordinaire, is stroking both my hands, looking into my eyes, and speaking softly into my ear – would you be surprised?

"I knew, the moment you stepped into that class, you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen."

I gaze at him, shyly. "I... Thank you."

"When I saw you sitting there... At the campfire... I thought, this is my chance to get to know this girl..." Matt McMyummie is clearly as far off as I am, but you won't hear me complaining. "Will I succeed, Rose?... Will I get to properly know you?"

"No doubts about it," I manage to say, his mouth drawing nearer and nearer. "This is such a... marvellous start..."

And then –

Another inch.

Another inch.

Closer.

"Kiss me," I say breathlessly.

And just, _just_ when his lips are about to touch mine –

"_Rose_."

What. The. Fuck.

I repeat: _What? The? Fuck?_

"Dude," I hear Matt protesting vaguely, "Fuck off, will ya?"

I cannot believe this. As my sight sharpens, it becomes evident that it's Malfoy _again_, interrupting us for the _second_ time tonight. He's using the tree that we're sitting under as a balance, looking down at us with the same distaste of earlier.

"Malfoy," I say tiredly. "What are you bloody doing here? Shouldn't you be shagging Rachel or something?"

Looking like he wants to kill someone, he spits, "I need to talk to you."

"Can't you do that some other time?" I scowl, rubbing my temples. "Leave us alone.

"I _need_ to talk to you," he repeats, still wearing the furious expression.

It's either because I'm wasted or because I'm tired of his nagging, or maybe a combination of both, that I mumble an apologetic 'sorry' to Matt, and try to stand up straight. With the help of the tree I'm eventually successful in crawling upwards. Malfoy, not sparing Matt another glance, grabs my wrist and drags me deeper into the forest. His grip isn't painful and I could just as well run away if I wanted to, but something undefined is stopping me. I follow him, curious to see what tricks the boy has on his sleeve this time.

"Where are we – where are you taking me?" I sputter, focussing on not tumbling.

"As far away from the Evans lad as possible," he grumbles, doing the same.

My head is hazy. For a split second I think I'm going to pass out, but his hold on me is strong and I can still register the feel of his fingers on my skin. Matt and the almost-kiss crosses my mind, but Malfoy is so overwhelmingly present this very moment, that it passes quickly. I shouldn't drink this much – I know that now. But hell, I'm already in trouble.

Malfoy comes to a halt after what seems an eternity. Of course I have no sense of time anymore at all, so I wouldn't really know for sure. Everywhere I look are trees, and all I hear are leaves rustling. Thanks to the alcohol I don't feel the cold, and I'm guessing he isn't either.

"So humour me, Malfoy." I raise my chin and lay my head against trunk. "Is there really something... at all... that you wanted to talk to me about?"

And suddenly, out of the fucking blue –

He grabs my waist and attacks my lips with his.

It takes me one horrendous second to react, to comprehend, and then my body responds full force.

Sweet Merlin. This is Scorpius _bloody_ Malfoy, the most beautiful boy on the planet, pressing me against the tree with his strong form, his hands passionately running their way over my arms, my back, my legs –

Oh, _fuck_.

Matt _who_?

This contact, this sense of _exhilaration_ with Malfoy has been _so_ long.

His mouth disappears from mine and is now instead trailing over my neck. He adds pressure and sucks lightly at all the right places he's come to know so well before, making me catch my breath again and again and again. I briefly wonder – is there a reason why this shouldn't...? But the question doesn't fully bloom and I wouldn't muster up the strength to tear myself apart from him anyway. He alights a fire in me that only seems to flicker up when I'm with him.

_I missed this_, an alcohol-generated thought states in the back of my mind.

"I need _this_," Malfoy utters in my ear, unbuttoning my shirt, "I really, _really_ fucking need this."

And after that, I lose it entirely.

There is a whirlwind, a _vortex_, taking over my chest, a loaded feeling in my gut, and a total heightening of all my senses. I'm only barely aware of what's going on or of what we're doing or of when I pull his cashmere sweater over his head. It seems that he's desperately trying to get me closer than I already am, leaving absolutely no space between the trunk, me and him. He hoists up my legs and supports my weight with his arms, allowing me to feel every fibre that is him. When he then looks me in the eye, is stare is glazed over but alive, his pupils dilated not due to the darkness, but because of lust – pure, animalistic lust. I have no doubts that I am the exact same copy of desire, pent-up desire for someone...

Someone...

Oh, _no_.

"Malfoy," I moan meekly. "Scorpius... Stop..."

He doesn't. He continues to get rid of my jeans, trained by months and months of exercise. "Why," _gasp_, "should," _gasp_, "I do," _gasp_, "such despicable thing?" _gasp_.

"This is wrong..." I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears. "I'm drunk... You're drunk... Not to mention I hate you..."

Yet it all comes out as a blurred mess of drunken nonsense, and he knows me better than to really listen what I have to say now. "Fuck, Rose. Fuck it if it's wrong," _closer_, "this feels too... _great_... to be wrong."

And then my brain, or what's left of it, feverishly tries to come up with an argument to refute this theory, but it can't.

It really, really can't.

So clasp my hands behind his neck, and inhale deeply, "Hopefully tomorrow never comes."

And with that, I close my eyes.

I wait for the moment where I can't remember where I start and he begins.

_Amazement_.

* * *

Eventful chapter, that was.  
Review while you're at it.

Until next time my dear readers  
Chop chop


	13. Thirteen

Now if everybody reviewed as much as they did for the last chapter I'd be a happy person! Thanks, dear readers.

Oh, bee tee dubbel u (yes I did just do that), if you spot any grammatical or spelling mistakes in this or one of the former chapters, feel free to point them out. I'll send you a handwritten postcard.

**Disclaimer:** blah blah blah.

* * *

**THIRTEEN**

Unfortunately, tomorrow inevitable _does_ come.

I wake up because of the rain.

When I open my eyes with a horrible roaring in my stomach and a deafening pounding in the back of my head, my mind doesn't bother wasting time trying to figure out what's wrong. What I'm currently experiencing is none other than an all too familiar alcohol-induced sickness. My wet clothes don't leave me much time to ponder over this, however. When I look up, I see a tree with leaves ruffling in the cold wind. When I look down, I see my own soaked clothes. When I look next to me –

Oh, _fuck_.

Scorpius Malfoy.

Ex-boyfriend. Fucking idiot. Most aggravating person to have ever graced this earth.

I nearly jump up, despite the protesting of my body. I immediately feel as if I'm going to fall down again, but hold myself up against the trunk. Watching silently as the arrogant blond's clothes are getting ruined with the boy himself unconscious, I would've smiled to myself if I wasn't feeling so utterly terrible. My, my, not so pristine and perfect now, are we?

Of course, that's about the moment my brain decides to set in.

_What are you doing sleeping next to him? _

Million dollar question.

Even though I wasn't feeling too festive to begin with, I can sense my face growing paler by second. White as a sheet. I count to ten as reality slowly dawns on me, as my mistakes and flaws and complete weaknesses overthrow me. I steal a last glance at Malfoy – who's looking agitated even in his sleep – and start walking.

No.

No. No. No. _No._

I did not do what I did.

I did not succumb to secret desires.

I did _not._

And they say denial is a girl's best friend – next to diamonds.

Well. I certainly have no diamonds but denial I possess in spades. I groan, trying my hardest to keep myself from throwing up (damn it, how much did I drain anyway?) and start walking. I realise I'm in the middle of a forest I have no idea how to get out of, and simply start walking on good instinct. I don't know if you've ever had a party in the woods, drank yourself to oblivion, supposedly slept with someone you shouldn't even dream of touching, and then woken up, in a bloody downpour.

In case you haven't, I'll spell it out for you.

It makes you feel like fucking shit.

I sincerely hope the direction I've chosen is the right one. The problem about trees in woods is that they _all look the same_. You don't suddenly remember the way because you recognise a certain leave. You don't. I should've learned from Hansel and Gretel, but apparently I've lost sight of every fairytale while I was busy losing all my faith in something as preposterous as love. I take it I was too busy devouring forbidden fruit, too caught up to be rational at all.

Or just too drunk.

Or a combination of both.

How the hell did it happen anyway?

I remember flashes. I vaguely remember the campfire and I know I had a fight with Eloise before and I assume we're not talking – the bitch. I recall Malfoy flirting with some pretty girl, and also that there was a good-looking boy I met. His name is Matt, he's American, and that's about all I can tell you. The drinks were for free, so I don't need a decent memory to know that I probably consumed a lot. In between there are blurred images of a close proximity with Matt and a tree and Malfoy and me and a lot of warm feelings, if you get my point.

The next thing I can really remember is waking up.

Because of the fucking rain.

I roll my eyes due to the irony of it all.

"_I mean, it always rains here. Especially this time of the year. I never thought I'd say it, but I kind of miss it. "_

"_I've always liked rain. Sometimes it just... sort of washes things away, you know?"_

"_I'm in the fucking __pouring__ rain, __ruining__ this extremely expensive tuxedo, because I needed to __talk__ to you! And all __you__ do is act like an infantile __nutcase__!"_

I try to shake the thoughts immediately, but they leave a sour taste lingering in my mouth. I bang both my hand palms against my forehead to smack some sense into myself as I walk on. One positive thing about this very moment is that the rain has stopped. I've also managed to go into the right direction, as the open place where the fire was held is now unfolded in front of my eyes. The ground is bare whereas it was filled with people last night. The ashes lay scattered, the empty plastic cups are present all over. The scene inexplicably saddens me. Things like these always remind me of a piece of art, once beautiful, that gets ruined due to lack of maintenance. Morning afters always do.

I told this to Malfoy one time.

He'd said: "If I didn't know you like the total cynic you are, I'd say you're a hopeless romantic. There's nothing poetic about a morning after. It's just a bunch of people puking their guts out because they got too carried away the night before. Period."

And maybe, you know, he had a point. But it's just a feeling that creeps onto me every time.

"I was just about to Scourgify the whole deal."

My heart stops for a second.

"Fucking hell," I curse. "Scare me to death much?"

I turn around to see a dark blond boy standing behind me, running a hand through his hair, making it all tousled. The nonchalant hooded sweater and jeans he's sporting obviously kept him drier than me. He wears an air of amusement as he looks at the litter sprinkled around the place.

"Matt?" I ask, hoping that I'm right and not making the biggest fool out of myself.

He takes his wand and flicks it. "_Scourgify_!" Then, he switches his gaze to me. "One and only." He gives me a once-over. "And whoa... _you_ look like shit."

"Thanks," I snap impatiently, "I appreciate it."

"No," he says, making it sound like 'nah', "I mean, you're pretty cute usually. It's just that you look like you want to," _wanna_, "throw up."

"If I do I'll make you sure my vomit _accidentally_ lands on you," I smile sweetly, cranky as a cat.

Instead of eyeing me in distaste like a certain other blond-haired boy would do, he just laughs. "Man, you English girls really are crazy."

"It's part of our charm," I give a sarcastic thumbs up.

I wonder why he's still standing here, or why I am, for that matter.

"So last night," he says and I'm already dreading this, "what did the big boy want to talk to about?"

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Once I remember I'll make sure to send you an Owl."

"Mustn't have been good I imagine, seeing as the bitch is being a Rose Weasley right now," he replies with a mocking smile. I can't believe he thinks this is funny.

"Maybe I'm just a bitch on a permanent basis," I say snidely.

He laughs again. "Yeah, alright. I'm the one who should be pissed off, you realise that?"

"Frankly, I don't really... you know, care _at all_," I spit, voice laced with annoyance.

"Ooh, feisty, pretty girl," still with the mocking undertone. "I wasn't really surprised though. The guy had been ogling you all night and everyone knows you were involved, so..."

"So what?" I'm only one inch away from biting his head off.

"So it wasn't like I didn't expect you to get laid by the loser," he shrugs.

First thing I want to say: you have no right to call him a loser, loser.

Then, when I realise what utter crap that is, the second thing comes to mind: so you think I'm a slut?

And after that the _truth_ hits me.

"Yeah, well," I copy his shrugging just for the sake of coming off as careless as he does, "I suppose it didn't really surprise me either."

And with that I leave him alone with his stupid thoughts and start to make my way out of this damned forest.

"Hey, Rose?" He calls after me. "Want to go out sometime?"

"Sure," I yell back, not bothering to turn around. "Just let me jump off a bridge first."

Idiots.

All of them.

Most of all, _myself_.

* * *

By the time Monday morning has arrived, I've finally realised that the situation is even worse than I'd initially imagined. First off there is the fact that Malfoy _took advantage of me_ and we still have to finish that stupid project. Second there is Matthew Evans, who on further consideration is a great catch and whom I managed to blow off completely.

I mean –

"_Sure, just let me jump off a bridge first?"_

Well, okay, Rose. Marvellous thinking you had going on there!

The thing is that you'd believe him to be completely irrelevant, but that he in fact will be quite important. Because next to the whole Malfoy drama, there is also Eloise Moreau. Yes, we did a great job on ignoring each other at the camp fire, but the little get-together was packed with friends. We had plenty of chances to get the other off our radar. Class, on the other hand, is _the_ place where Eloise and I 'hang out'. She's always the person whom I sit next to. And given that I don't really know my other classmates that well (and Malfoy is absolutely out of the question) I'm stuck alone. Which completes the circle by bringing me back to Matt.

"Hey Matt," I therefore puff when I see him standing outside our classroom. Neither Eloise nor Malfoy has turned up yet.

Matt strangely enough doesn't seem angry at all and just smiles The Mocking Smile. "Oh look. It's the bitch on a permanent basis."

"Right, about that – "

"Don't worry about it," he cuts me off. "I'd be pissed off too if I'd just learned I slept with my asshole of an ex-boyfriend."

I look at the ground guiltily. "Yeah, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Like I said, it's no problem," he waves away my argument. "Speaking of the devil..."

Ah, beautiful.

There appears Scorpius Malfoy, hair all platinum, clothes all fancy, face all emotionless. Yup, that's the boy we've all come to know so well. The fact that my breath hitches for _one fraction of a second_ at the sight of him and the memory of two nights ago, I wisely ignore and instead scrunch up my nose in utter disgust. Matt, who notices, laughs quietly and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Just don't talk to him."

"I wasn't planning on it."

Malfoy, unluckily, doesn't share our plan. "Rose?"

Not planning to give him any time of the day, I keep my gaze fixed on a certain spot on the wall. "No?"

"We still have to finish that project," he says, pointing out the obvious.

"I'll do it on my own."

He kinks an eyebrow. "Because you're so good at potions, aren't you?"

I knew it. I _knew_ he was going to use the belladonna incident against me!

"I am not spending time with you ever again," I hiss calmly, not wanting to cause a scene. "You might just rape me again, after all."

Matt chuckles. Malfoy throws him a very, very threatening look that is quite intimidating, and then settles for a condescending one for me. "Do you _really_ want to delve deeper into that subject here, Rose?"

How dare he! "Delve deeper? There's not much to say about it other than you took advantage of me, is there?"

"Rose," he says silently, unkindly, "don't do it. Don't give me your hypocritical Holier Than Thou attitude, because frankly, I'm through with it. You were willing and you _know_ it."

Battling the dilemma in my head, I wonder if he's right. The issue is, I _know_ I was probably willing. I was drunk and we have a history and he's a fantastic kisser and the electricity our bodies produce and the way he's able to push my buttons and –

_Okay_.

What I mean is, there were plenty of reasons for me to be willing. But that's _hardly_ the point.

The reasons for me to be not willing heavily outweigh the pro's.

"I was drunk, Malfoy. You know I would never have done it if I had been sober!"

"Oh, and I would've?"

_What_?

Recollecting my jaw from the floor, I stutter, "But you're – you're a boy!"

"Can we continue this conversation some other time?" Malfoy says, his eyes hitting the ceiling.

"You are such a prick." A sneer is painted on my face now.

"Ah. That hurt. I think I'm going to cry now."

The thought of seeing him cry temporarily cheers me up, but then it hits me – fairly harsh if I may add – that this situation is anything but funny, seeing as the ultimate cry baby from the past few months has been... exactly! _Me_!

Besides, the term 'crying' usually refers to the act of shedding tears as a response to _an emotional state in humans._ Do you see the flaws in that, applied to Scorpius Malfoy?

If not – please care to read it again.

"You reckon you even possess a lacrimal apparatus?" I ask, faking curiosity.

He looks like he's about to humour me with an undoubtedly witty yet infuriating response, but as his eyes transfer from my face to the distance over my shoulder, he comes up with something else entirely, "Well, well. If it isn't the Asian shrew."

I notice something akin to hatred in his expression, but quickly write it off to my oh so vivid fantasies. I turn around, and stifle to urge to gasp in utter revulsion.

Violetta.

With her arm linked to Eloise's.

I think I might vomit all the liquor I downed Saturday _all over again_.

Preparing myself mentally for a war, I'm about to spew a terribly offending insult. However, Malfoy seems to be ahead of me. "I thought the Healer course was for intelligent people?"

"Obviously not," Violetta huffs, nearly cutting off the blood circulation in Eloise's limb with her iron grip – the _psycho_. "Otherwise you would've understood I'm only here to drop Ellie off."

_Ellie_?

Is this whore _for real?_

"So, what now, _Ellie_?" I bite back in Malfoy's place, a _teenie weenie_ bit hurt by this revolting display of corn in front of me. "You're unable to find your way without _Violettie's_ help?"

Matt, whom I'd completely forgotten about, looks from Malfoy to Violetta and from Eloise to me with an air of diversion about him. "Man, I _love_ England."

"Shut your fucking trap," Malfoy throws him a dismissive glare.

"Calm down, people," Eloise – or should I jump the bandwagon and call her _Ellie_ now? – holds up her hands in a sad attempt to silence the fight. "Let's not be immature about this, okay?"

"Says the girl who hangs around with Violetta bloody Chang," Malfoy remarks drily.

The strange thing is – I never realised he hated Violetta so much. Yeah, he made sure to tell me how much he'd learned to dislike her on a frequent basis when we were together, but that always struck me as an effort to boost my confidence. So what about it, then? In what way did she ever screw _him_ over?

"Yeah, well, I tend to hang around with girls you don't like," Eloise shrugs.

He seems to be baffled one split second, but recovers quickly enough. "You aren't talking about Rose, are you?"

"Who else would she be talking about?" Violetta says in that annoying high-pitched voice of hers, flipping her shiny black hair over her shoulder with in a tremendous stuck-up fashion.

"I like Rose well enough," he replies stonily, making all of us drop dead in our tracks for a moment.

Then, Matt, who isn't currently rendered speechless, grins, "You sure have a funny way of showing it."

Malfoy ignores him and locks eyes with me. The intensity of his stare produces an unsettling feeling in my stomach and a slight pressure in my throat. I am repelled by the effect the boy still manages to practise on me, but I'm hardly to blame.

"Indeed," I confirm hoarsely, tearing my attention away from him.

"Come on, Rose, you know I respect the person you are – "

"Oh, _please_!" Violetta interrupts him, which makes me want to strangle her more than ever. "You cheated on her, Scorp. Save us the love fest, you know it's not going to happen anymore!"

And then a very, very uncomfortable silence befalls our little group.

The bitch could've stabbed my eyes out with one of her killer heels and it would've been less of a blow. I don't know what it is exactly that makes me want to bawl – the fact that I slept with him, momentarily forgetting what he did to me? The fact that it's Violetta again who's pointing it out so eloquently for all of us? A combination of the two? The thought that this _still makes me want to bawl?_ – but what I do know, is that none of them deserve to see how this affects me.

"That's peculiar coming from you, Violetta," I say, face completely blank, "since it was you crawling on his doorstep, begging for him to take you back whenever he'd shagged another girl and got tired of you. And as far as I recall, he didn't even have to tell you he liked _you_." Then I raise a brow. "But, oh wait. That's because _he never did in the first place_."

And with those words hanging in the air, I take Matt's hand quite aggressively, push open the door of the class room, and leave three of them standing there.

"I second that," I hear Malfoy muttering to Violetta before following my example.

And, honestly, despite everything, I can't help but smile to myself in triumph.

* * *

Humour me, people.

Adios, mi amigos.


	14. Fourteen

I'd apologise for the late update, but then again, I can't help it. School is insane and it will remain so for the next three weeks. I'd rather write than do my homework. Thanks A LOT for the lovely reviews though. Keep it up!

AND:

Since a few people commented on Rose being somewhat bitchy, I wanted to clarify something: she's always been easily irritated, but since Scorpius she's grown bitter. And half of what she says she doesn't mean, especially when talking to her friends. Just wanted to clear up that character flaw, before everyone starts to hate her or something =)

AND:

Dedicated to Lonne b/c she is sick and needs cheering up.

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended. JK owns. **

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* * *

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FOURTEEN

  
"You are polishing your shoes."

This is the first thing I tell Albus when I'm eating breakfast Saturday morning.

"And _you_," he replies, "are stating the obvious."

I squint my eyes in contemplation. "You always polish your shoes when you've got a Quiddich match coming up. Am I missing something?"

"Rose," he says in a reprimanding tone. "_Hello_? First game of the season? I asked you and Eloise to come a while ago?"

Aha.

Being the terrific cousin and best friend I am, I totally forgot about that.

Thing is, last week my head has been in different places to say at least. First of all there is the small, very, _very_ disposable fact that Malfoy and I carelessly engaged ourselves into the completely _unthinkable_ one week ago and the (lack of) memory of it keeps on pestering me. We've managed to remain civil for the past five days, and I think the reason for me not biting his head off is that he stood up for me in that ridiculous fight with Eloise and Violetta. For one extended moment it had actually felt like we formed that united front we once were again.

It bothers me.

Because it makes me remember that I irrationally missed him to death when we broke up. And despite me softening up towards him, I can't even begin to consider forgiving him.

Not that he's voiced out any desire of wanting me back, but you know.

Still.

I can't and I won't.

No matter how many meaningful You-Were-So-Hot-Last-Saturday looks we accidentally exchanged last time we met up to work on the project.

"Oh, yeah, of course. I was being sarcastic," I lie subtly.

"It is hard to tell when you're serious and when you're not, but I'm onto you this time," Albus grins. "Ungrateful of you though. I got you VIP seats and this is your way to repay me?"

Thank Merlin for Albus being incapable of getting angry. If he didn't look like his father so much, you'd think aunt Ginny and uncle Harry adopted him.

"Oh, no," something hits me. "Did you put Eloise up the list as well?"

"I figured you wouldn't like that, so I got her off," he shrugs, proving the following things:

A) as I've always suspected, Eloise was more of a conquest to him than anything else and Albus is therefore as horrible as Louis and Scorpius.

B) I'm lucky that he's turning more and more into a considerate best friend, almost filling in Louis' place.

I don't know which one outweighs the other so I just shut up.

"You can bring someone else if you like," he suggest, and I decide on the latter.

"Thank you," I walk over to him and kiss his cheek. "I'll go invite my date then. See you later and good luck."

Which brings me to the second subject of my thoughts.

Matthew Evans.

Hot rebound extraordinaire.

He's been quite nice to me, in a mocking sort of way. He's introduced me to a lot of his friends on campus, mostly from the Law department - I even ran into that slightly creepy Vincent I met earlier this year, but he didn't pay much attention to me. He has made it possible for me not to appear as a total loner slash loser as well, given that he sat next to me in almost every class. Eloise, of course, is friends with everybody but me at the moment, so she probably doesn't miss me at _all_. She's got plenty of peers to fill the void.

Good thing I now have a substitute too.

And a good-looking one at that.

Eat your heart out, two-faced Violetta lover!

(Yes. 'Violetta lover' _is_ in fact an insult in itself.)

"I don't need good luck," Albus breaks me out of my reverie as I pause with my hand wrapped around the door handle. "My skills are better than ever."

"I think I'll be cheering for the other team then," I say breezily, and before he can come up with a retort, I'm out.

* * *

When I've finally found Matt's dorm after forty-five minutes of searching, he opens the wooden door with small eyes and dark blonde hair sticking out. He's shirtless – yum, yum, _yum_ – and as soon as he spots me, The Mocking Smile magically finds its way on his sleepy face.

"Oh, look. It's the prettiest girl of LWU."

I roll my eyes in a very familiar fashion. "Oh, look. It's the biggest sleezeball in the entire world."

"Come in," he moves a little so I can enter. "My roommate's still sleeping anyway."

"No, no, it's okay," I decline politely. "I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to the Quidditch match with me today."

He laughs and leans against the doorpost in a way that, disturbingly enough, reminds me of the three men in my life - Albus, Malfoy _and_ Louis. "Is the Bitch on a Permanent Basis asking me out on a date?"

"Don't flatter yourself," I diminish his statement immediately. "Albus gave Eloise and me seats in the VIP, but since Eloise and I aren't seeing eye to eye for the moment, he told me I could take someone else."

"Whatever you say," he says playfully. "I'd really love to, actually. I can't wait to brag about the VIP to my boys back in the States!"

And then, when I'm about to reply –

"Oh, no, wait. _Let me jump off a bridge first_," he continues, imitating my voice.

I grant him a death-glare.

He shakes his head in amusement. "Just joking, Rose. I'll pick you up at...?"

"Three." And then, pointedly: "_Don't_ be late, Casanova."

"I'll make sure, princess," he winks.

I punch his arm softly. "It's _Rose_."

But while I turn around and walk down the hall way, it occurs to me that Malfoy only ever called me Weasley or Rose, and the sporadic times he named me 'love', it wasn't sweet. I never _expected_ him to be any _near_ sweet, but maybe...

maybe the fact that I somehow like Matt giving me nicknames indicated that I'm ready for change.

* * *

The Hogwarts Quidditch field has nothing against The LWU Quidditch stadium. When Matt and I Apparate to the stadium, we're both speechless as soon as our feet touch the ground in front of the huge construction. This is obviously not a place for amateurs – and despite my heritage and family full of Quidditch freaks, I've never actually been to a professional match. The excitement that undeniably hangs in the air is the same sort that I encountered at Hogwarts, only it is now multiplied because of the mass of people. Everyone is either wearing a pale blue scarf (the opposite team – Appleby Arrows) or a white/grey one (LWU colours – to symbolise the level of seriousness and dedication, something like that.) I, of course, would have been wearing neither if it weren't for Matt's attentiveness – just because of the simple fact that I don't think about those things.

"Man, this is going to be so cool," Matt is one step away from clapping his hands like a little child, which makes me really happy that I brought him. "First game in England and I'm in the damn _VIP_!"

"I admit the VIP part is lovely indeed," I agree, linking my arm in his and walking towards the entrance for the box. "Rose Weasley and Matthew Evans," I say to the man standing in front of it.

When he scratches our names on the list and steps aside to allow us through, Matt bends his neck and says in my ear: "So this is what it's like to be important, huh."

"This is what it's like," I confirm.

And, strangely enough, an involuntary shiver runs down my back at the feel of his breath.

After what feels like a thousand steps upwards, Matt and I finally mange to make our way to the VIP box. The place has seats for about thirty people and has an absolutely fantastic view on the field. As soon as I enter, of course, I have no more eyes for outside.

What's – or better, who's – inside is _tons_ better.

"_Dad_!" I squeal like the kid I once was, jumping into the arms of an all too well known redhead.

He recovers from the surprise quite quickly and pats my back in a fatherly way. "Rosie! How are you, my little girl?"

"Good," I say reassuringly, and then turn to the raven-haired replica of my best friend. "Uncle Harry, hey!"

"Hello, Rosie," he greets, smiling and kissing my cheek.

A piece of home feels good.

I'm fairly independent and I've spent most of my youth in a boarding school, just like everyone else in my family did, and because both my parents were at work often even before my eleventh birthday, I spent a lot of time in day care. But day care and Hogwarts never really replaced what was undeniably the place where I grew up, with my million cousins and aunts and uncles in tow. Home is the place that's never quiet, and home is the place where I got to meet Albus Potter and Louis Weasley.

Louis Weasley...

Speaking of which.

Standing next to uncle Harry, sandy-haired and blue-eyed and good-looking as ever, white/grey scarf adorning his neck, is the boy who taught me how to play Wizarding Chess, the boy who told me the first cut is the deepest, the boy whom I screamed at for no reason, and the boy I want to be bigger part of my life again.

And he's looking at me.

Expectantly.

Questioning.

Reluctant.

Hopeful?

"I'll introduce you later," I say quietly to Matt, who's eyeing my dad and Harry with clear fascination. "I need to do something first."

I don't bother to be expectant or questioning or reluctant or hopeful.

Instead I state firmly: "We should be friends again."

To which Louis replies, with The Suave Face: "The girl comes to her senses."

And then I fall into his embrace.

Relief blossoms in my chest and I'm _intensely_ content that this went so easy, considering that the past months have been so uncertain. He didn't write me. I didn't write him. He didn't know if I was mad at him. I didn't know if he was mad at me. He felt bad. I felt bad. Albus, Louis and I – we're supposed to be the three musketeers and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Sweet Merlin," I hear him saying, patting my back, "I have so much to tell you, I don't even know where to start!"

I let him go and grin widely. "Me too! Oh, but wait, first you have to meet someone!"

I nod to Matt. "Louis, this is my new friend, Matt." Louis extends a hand. "Matt, this is my best friend and cousin, Louis." Matt shakes it. I can tell by the look in Louis' eyes that he takes an immediate liking to the boy, very much like I did in the beginning, and I'm positive that this is going to be a great day.

"New _friend_, you said, Rosie?" My dad suddenly intervenes from the background. "Not a boyfriend now, is he?"

Yes.

This is the same boy (don't be deceived by his age!) who told me never to marry a pureblood – especially not a Malfoy.

He still thinks I'm a ten-year-old, helpless virgin.

He therefore likes to _threaten_ possible dangers to said virginity.

"_Not_ a boyfriend, dad," I yell, stealing a glance at a bemused Matt. I notice a flicker of... disappointment?... spreading across his handsome features, but then again, I'm good, if not the best, at imagining things.

"On the subject of boyfriends..." Louis speaks up in an extremely careful tone. "What's _he_ doing here?"

You don't need to be Albus Dumbledore to figure out who he's talking about.

The look on his face is proof enough.

My dad's expression visibly darkens. Harry seems slightly uncomfortable. Louis has his eyes cast on the floor. Matt apparently finds it funny enough to chuckle: "He's like one of those annoying detergent commercials. Following you around everywhere you go even though you do everything in your might to escape them."

Spot on, Matt. _Spot on_.

"It's okay," I mutter to the whole bunch. "I won't throw myself off the VIP box or anything."

I see him taking a seat two rows higher than ours. Naturally he's wearing no scarf at all, since he's not capable of supporting _anyone_ that does not carry the name Scorpius Malfoy. The v-neck, grey cashmere sweater that I've seen him sporting a million times over the years, the black tailored pants, the dragon leather shoes, the superior demeanour – all it induces an unsettling pit in my stomach. A confusing combination between what may be lingering love or lingering lust or lingering hate.

His presence is lingering on me. That much is for sure.

Deciding that it's better to immediately make my existence in the room known than wait and let him make some scathing remark, which in its turn would result in a few hexing family members, I muster my confidence and go over to him.

"The tendency to stalk in not an attractive quality," I start off, gazing down on the top of his nearly white head.

He looks up from the platinum hair covering his forehead. "Do you really think I would've come up here if I had known it would be an absolutely nauseating Weasley fest up here?"

"Weasley and Evans fest, you mean," I correct snootily.

Why the _hell_ did I just say that?

"Matthew Evans," Malfoy spits the name like it's an insult. "The perfect son-in-law. Seriously, Rose, how can you even stand those hideous R's of his for longer than five seconds?"

"As in, his American accent?" I raise a brow.

He scrunches up his nose. "_Yes_. Merlin bless the British."

"I presume bigotry is in your blood?"

"_Naturally_."

I inwardly debate on whether to sit down next to him, but instantly remember that Matt is alone with my dad and Harry and Louis, and probably praying for me to come back by now.

"So," I choose to ignore his ridiculous comment, "how did you get in here anyway? I thought you couldn't buy your place here?"

He leans back and pops his elbows behind him. "Remember that hot girl from the camp fire?"

"Rachel?"

"I'll let you in on a secret of mine, _love_," _See_? Do you _feel_ the sarcasm? "You have to learn whom to focus your energy on. There are the hot girls, and then there are the hot girls with _purpose_."

"What about non-hot girls?" I ask drily.

He smirks The Aggravating Smirk. "Unless they're blackmail material... Don't look at me like that, Rose. My stamina isn't _incessant_."

"Do you have any depth at _all, _Malfoy?" I ask incredulously despite knowing that he actually does.

"I like to surround myself with pretty things," he shrugs. "Does that make me superficial?"

"My hair is red," I copy his shrugging gesture. "Does that make me a redhead?"

"What a _horrible_ analogy," Malfoy drawls, frowning in mock-disappointment.

I let out an exasperated sigh. Two minutes with him and I'm already set to tear my hair out. How I ever put up with him, I will never know...

... although he _does_ look quite good.

"I'm going back to bearable humans," I inform him, "_Adios_."

His smirk expands in reply. "_Ciao_."

With his supercilious face in my wake, I descend the stairs again and find Louis and Matt talking animatedly about – you'll never guess it! – Quidditch. I interrupt them by shoving myself in between them, and they both look at me with curious eyes. I mouth to Louis that I'll tell him later, since we've got a lot of catching up to do on the subject and I know I can trust him no matter what, and after that I tell Matt Malfoy was being his usual snotty self.

"Has he always been like that?" Matt asks.

Louis snorts. "Are you kidding me, mate? The lad hosts fancy balls in his Malfoy manor and probably plays _cricket_ in his spare time."

Although Malfoy hates fancy balls and doesn't play cricket, I have to admit it is an accurate way to describe him_. _

_Aristocratic_ _snob_.

"Let's not waste our happy moment together talking about him," I say with dominance shining through my voice.

"You're right," Matt nods. Then he points at the field in front of us. "The game's about to start anyway."

I capture a glance of his profile and smile involuntarily. "Yeah."

"Forget about the loser," Louis says while throwing an arm around me.

"Of course I will." And then I add cheekily: "I'm with _you_."

But as I have to force myself not to turn my head to Malfoy's direction, I wonder if I really will.

Forget about him, I mean.

Because, let's face it.

Words have always been easier than practise.

* * *

To make sure: I've got nothing against the American accent, ppl.  
Scorpius is just being his usual snotty self. As we, or at least I, love him.

If you spot mistakes: feel free to tell me.

Au révoir mes amis

Josephine


	15. Fifteen

Hi.

QUESTION: So I was wondering. I re-read Caring is Creepy and it occured to me that it is one of my better works. I only haven't updated it for five months. Are there still ppl out there who care, b/c in that case I might want to start writing it again (once I find more free time.)

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended. JK Rowling owns everything remotely recognisable to you.

* * *

**FIFTEEN**

The LWU Quidditch team won.

This resulted in a happy night out with Albus, Louis, Matt and me. We went to a typical, English pub as an attempt to lure Matt into our English habits. If he didn't like our habits, he certainly didn't show it. He and Louis really hit it off – as I'd expected them too – and I spent most of the night attached to my Former-Best-Friend-Turned-Best-Friend-Again's hip, hating the fact that he'd have to leave soon afterwards, since he works in the Ministry now, right under my mum. We played poker – which I won – and went back to the campus singing and with arms linked.

I may not like Quidditch, but I surely like celebrating it.

Rose + Louis + Albus + Matt + loads of Butterbeer + winning the Quidditch game = gold.

I got to learn a lot more about Matt too. Apparently they actually held a _prom_ at the end of his seventh year in America, and he got voted _Prom King_. He told us they derived this idea from regular Muggle high schools, and that he would've liked being Prom King if only the Prom Queen hadn't been a whiny girl that had a tendency to stalk him. I also got to know that he's a half-blood, that he hates coffee, is addicted to Muggle television, has two sisters, knows how to surf since he's got family in Florida, and wants to move to Australia for the good weather.

The good thing about this was; while he was busy spreading this information, it didn't come to me for one second that Malfoy doesn't drink anything _but _coffee, hates Muggle television because he thinks it kills your ability to criticise, is an only (and spoilt) child, and secretly abhors the sun because it's too 'cheery' for him (_yes_, he actually said it like that) and because his skin doesn't react to it whatsoever.

So that was nice.

Really nice.

Yet as we've learned as we grew older, all good things come to an end. It's currently nine o'clock, Sunday evening, and Louis has just Apparated home after a long, heartfelt goodbye and a lot of promises to write – all of which I intend to keep. Albus has run off to some groupie named Mary, whom he met right after the game and whom I couldn't care less about. This leaves me with Surfer Boy, who's tapping his foot this very moment, standing in my dorm.

"I hate the fact," he begins, "that weekends never last forever."

"If they lasted forever you wouldn't be able to appreciate them so much," I say smartly.

He laughs. "Oh, I see. You're one of those 'you need to be unhappy at least once to know what happiness is like' chicks?"

"_Chicks_?" I mimic him. "Do they _actually_ say that in the US?"

He pretends to be offended. "Something against my vocabulary, princess?"

"No," a large grin makes its way on my face. "It's hilarious. By all means – keep going!"

"Oh, and you think the words 'mental' and 'rubbish' are so much better?" He pokes me in my side playfully.

Poking him back, I say, "Those aren't British words _per se_."

"No, you guys just have a habit of using them eight times a sentence," he shoots back.

"Whatever, you're just jealous," I say dismissively. "Do you want a drink?"

"I've had my fair share of drinks yesterday, thanks," he declines, pointing his finger at his head to remind me of the headache we all encountered this morning.

I look at him. "Water _does_ exist, you know."

Feigning surprise, he brings his hands to his mouth. "Seriously?"

I momentarily disappear in the kitchen to get myself some lemonade. In the mean time Matt has made himself comfortable sitting on the desk, leaning backwards on his hand palms. He's really cute, I vaguely think when I return, in a cheeky kind of way. I can understand why they voted him Prom King, and I briefly muse over the question who would've made Prom King in our year.

Close tie between –

Well, you can guess.

"So I was thinking," he speaks when he sees me. "I really, really had fun with you in the last week. We should go out again next Saturday!"

"You mean with Albus too?" I ask while taking a sip from my bubbly drink.

He gives me a sideways glance. "I meant you and me."

_Oh._

Not sure how to feel about this proposal, I look down at my feet.

I like Matt. I like hanging out with him. I like talking to him and I think he's funny and good-looking and interesting and obviously intelligent. There are no uncomfortable silences when I'm with him and he's always nice to me, in his own mocking manner. He makes me feel good about myself and he gets along great with Albus and Louis – which is not exactly unimportant. He has no serious character flaws that I know of and even the clothes he wears are alright.

So why am I stalling?

"Whoa, you don't _have_ to," Matt eventually says after I've failed to reply.

"No, no," I immediately protest. "I want to!"

Because, really.

Why wouldn't I?

"Great!" He seems genuinely relieved and all I can suddenly think of is Stephano's former broken heart. "I'll work something out, okay?"

"Yeah," I nod, not able to shake the uneasy feeling. "I look forward to it."

And that's how I end up with my first date after... well.

Malfoy's malfunction.

"Now that's settled," Matt says happily, "want to play some poker?"

Glad to be off the subject, I grin again. "Since beating boys is my favourite sport..."

"You _wish_."

"No, I _know_."

"We'll see."

"Bring it on."

* * *

As I always do, I did beat Matt.

Again and again and again.

Three days later I'm in a pretty good mood. Even though I miss him already, I'm ecstatic that Louis and I made up, and I stopped missing Eloise altogether. Loose ends are tying up – including Malfoy. Our project is coming to an end and this Wednesday evening is the last time we officially have to spend together. We're stuck in the lab to finish the last potion, and there is only _one_ ingredient left.

Experience the thrill of fear of failure.

"Throw it in, Rose," Malfoy demands, when I pause in my movements.

I swallow. "But what if it's not _completely_ correct?"

"Bloody hell," he sighs loudly. "Do you really need pep talk?"

I grant him a glare.

"Fine. Come on, Rose Weasley! We can do it!" he claps his hands in the most phoney way possible.

I raise my eyebrows. "We?"

"Yes," he says impatiently. "You and me equals _we_. See? It even rhymes!"

Closing my eyes I throw it in.

Malfoy's clapping makes me open them again.

"The Gods above have finally heard my prayers," I say with a big, bright smile when the colour of the potion is turning into the purple the book prescribed.

Malfoy kinks an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you didn't expect us to accomplish the assignment?"

"_Obviously_," I reply with emphasis, "I wasn't talking about that. The fact that our project is finished doesn't only imply that it's finished, it also means _we_ can go back to non-acquaintances and spend the rest of our lives in peace."

Looking a tad knocked over by this – Merlin knows why – Malfoy frowns. "Non-acquaintances?"

"Want me to make a toast?" I keep talking in the cheery tone, for the sole reason that I know it annoys him endlessly. "Want me to get some alcohol-free champagne?"

"First of all," he rolls his eyes in a way that implicates he's not finding it funny, "alcohol-free champagne?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "It _personally_ offends me that you would even _think_ of uttering such nonsense aloud." Then, in the same condescending manner: "And second of all – you and I will never be non-acquaintances, as you so eloquently put it, since, however unfortunate both parties may think this is, we've known each other for _eight years_ now."

"How is any of that relevant?" I fold my arms defensively. "You know just as well as I do that what I meant was we aren't going to talk civilly after this."

He gives me an irritated glance. "Come on, Rose. We've been getting along just fine and you know it."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way," I say mockingly. "Poor thing."

Since the boy standing in front of me resembles a robot more than anything else, he doesn't give the slightest flinch. "Deluding yourself has always been your forte," he shrugs. "Speaking of which. I heard some things today in class..."

"Drum roll," I interject laconically.

"Apparently the perfect Daughter-in-Law has a date with the perfect Son-in-Law," he states with a clear revulsion.

"As in," I rephrase, "Matt and I?"

"No," he snaps, "your mum and Harry Potter."

The first thing that comes to mind is ARGH NOO! ERASE THESE SICKENING IMAGES FROM MY MIND!

The second things is –

"You sound like a jealous ex-boyfriend," I say incredulously, wondering why I didn't think of this before. "But, hey, wait! That's what you _are_!"

It nearly takes a microscope, but I _do_ notice him squirming uncomfortably. "Not jealous. Merely _enervated_ by your choice. I mean – an American? _Seriously_?"

"Oh, cut the bullshit, Malfoy," I stare at him with scrutinising eyes. "You couldn't care less if he was British or American... Hell, it could be Stephano and you'd _still_ be enervated." Then I can't help but smirk. "Who knew your ego was so delicate..."

"Rose, you can do so much better than him," he scoffs, uncharacteristically refusing to engage himself in this useless banter. "With Stephano, I'd say, fine, water always finds its own level. But Evans? If you were gold he'd be... _iron_."

I gape at him.

"Okay, Malfoy, and _you're_... what? _Diamond_, then?"

And then it hits me that we're about to have The Big Conversation we've both so carefully avoided for the past months. I draw in a breath to brace myself for the hurt this blond bastard is undoubtedly going to bestow on me.

Again.

Because that's the way my life rolls.

"Most of the time," he agrees arrogantly. "Look, I know – "

"_Nothing_, obviously!" I interrupt him brutally. "I've put up with a lot of your shit over the years, but this _has_ to hit the fan. Are you _really_ telling me Matt isn't good enough knowing that you did what you did?"

At least his face seems to drop a little at this. "I never said _I_ was good enough for you either."

That's –

Wait –

_What_?

"_But_," he goes on after seeing the questions rising on my face, "by some sick, cruel joke of the universe, the attraction you feel towards him will never match the attraction you feel towards _me_."

_Typical_.

"Says who?" I lift my chin defiantly.

He gets off the desk and stands near me in a flash. "Remember the campfire? No matter how drunk you were, you still came with me and had sex with me against a _tree_, knowing that Matt was still waiting for you somewhere. And if that's not proof enough for you, then can you tell me, why did come to talk to me in the VIP box?" His grey eyes are piercing and a wave of his cologne washes over me. "Did his company fail to satisfy you?"

Struggling not to lose my composure, I take a small step backwards. "And you're saying deluding oneself is _my_ forte?"

"Don't feed me lies, Rose," he says calmly. He must have seen my movements, but he doesn't come closer again. It renders me cold and relieved at the same time – which in itself is something to worry about.

"Scorpius." I utter his name with something akin to... disappointment... and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. "It's all you ever did."

And by that I'm ready to go.

And leave him behind.

And never think of this situation again.

And go on that date with Matt without baggage.

And. Forget. It. All.

The tears I cried. The bitterness I gained. The friendship I temporarily ruined.

Scorpius Malfoy is not worth any of it.

"_Wait_."

His voice is strong as I'm about to walk out the door.

"_What_?" I sneer without turning around. "Want to act like a hypocrite some more?"

I feel his presence sneaking up behind me and to my surprise, he puts a hand on my shoulder. "Let me prove it to you."

My gaze is fixed on the wall in front of me. "Prove _what_?"

"That I suit you better than he would." Suddenly he's occupying my vision and his hand has disappeared. "Go on a date with him next week and go out with me the week after that."

Sick of his idiotic behaviour, I push him aside. "I see no reason to do that whatsoever."

Of course, like the broken record I've always known him to be, he stops me again – this time by actually taking my wrist. If I got a galleon for every time he's done that over the past years I would be a millionaire.

"I'm sorry."

I freeze.

From my toe to my knee to my waist to my shoulder to my fingertips to my neck to the top of my head – I freeze _completely_.

After what seems an eternity of waiting –

He's _apologising_?

He's actually saying _I'M SORRY_?

"I may not act like it and I know this comes as a total shock," he says when he realises I'm not going to say anything, "but I also know I never should've... abandoned you like that, and... I mean... I'm telling you this in total honesty, but I never once lied to you on purpose when we were together, okay?"

This is the part where everything starts to ache.

I can't bear to look at him. "You _promised_," and why the fuck do I sound like a little, vulnerable girl? "You promised you would come back when I was in the hospital. You _told_ me you'd come as soon as they'd let you."

"I _meant_ it when I said that – "

"Then why _didn't_ you?" I exclaim, and the more the words are spoken out loud, the heavier the pressure inside my chest becomes. "Why couldn't you just man up and tell me about Summer _yourself_? For fuck's sake, Scorpius, I had to hear it from _Louis_!" The anger swells and swells. "Everyone knew and you never once bothered to even send me a sodding _owl_!"

"I _know_ and I'm _sorry_!" The volume of his voice increases. His usual cool, calm and collected facade is gone and all there currently is to him is unfulfilled business. "I didn't want to see you, I wouldn't be able to... Rose, I _never_ intended it to happen, alright? I was just _so_ drunk, and I don't even _remember_ – "

_Tick, tick, tick – _

And then comes the part where the volcano erupts.

"Fuck off, Scorpius!" I bellow, one inch away from hexing him. "You can't just go and search for excuses now! It's too late, and I won't believe you anyway. You walked away from your problems like you _always_ do, and the worst thing about it is that you're even too much of a coward to _admit_ you're a coward!"

Silence.

"You said you _loved_ me."

And after this, the final part, the seemingly innocent conversation turns into hell on earth.

"I _did_!" He says firmly, almost convincingly. "We were together for _eight_ fucking months! I never lasted that long with a girl and it never _felt_ that long either."

"Spare me the love confessions," I say bitterly.

He rubs his temples. "You'll never let it go, will you?"

"Oh, _great_," I stare at him, dumbfounded by his idiocy. "You finally realise that, you know, maybe you should apologise for screwing me over like that, after, what, four months? And you expect me to forgive you just like _this_?"

"That's not what I'm doing," he snaps, "I'm just stupid enough to ask you if you'll ever let it go."

I inhale deeply. "Did you ever know why I really loved you?"

He's probably dying to say something like 'my good looks' or 'my fortune', but even _he_ is decent enough to keep it in during times like these. "I can only guess."

"Logic has always been my best friend," I start to explain, "in the sense that I would probably marry logic if I could. And before we got together, my logic told me you were evil, repugnant, despicable, and that I shouldn't even _dream_ of bothering with you."

"Stop, you'll make me blush," Malfoy sarcastically intercedes.

I give him a pointed look. "And why wouldn't I have believed that logic? It was flawless! It had never let me down before!"

"But you bothered."

"That's my point," I shake my head, "I loved you, because you, for one, _defied_ my logic."

Comprehension dawns upon his beautiful face. "But then I had to go and prove it right for once and for all."

Funny how we seem to complement each other so well in this situation.

"You know... I really, really despised you before our seventh year..." I begin. "But after graduation?" I shake my head. "I never, _ever_ hated you worse."

The temperature in the corridor seems to drop below the zero point.

For a second it seems like he wants to reach out, but he drops his arm as soon as he raised it, and after what feels like a decade, he speaks up again. "Did you ever miss me?"

And that's a strange thing about him, if you want to know.

If it were anyone else, _anyone_ else in this _entire _world, to ask this, utter desperation would be poured into these five words. But it's Scorpius Malfoy, who is the ultimate paradox of perfection and imperfection, and he just _says_ it. Neutrally. Like the machine he must be.

He's always been an unflawed actor.

Unfortunately, I am not.

"All the time."

Because seriously, what's the point of lying now?

"...Okay," he nods, and that's it.

No 'I missed you too'.

Just 'okay'.

Fucking _marvellous_, Malfoy.

He walks into room, leaving me stranded in my own mess, alone like the biggest fool that has ever graced the planet. When he comes out again, his black sweater is tossed over his shoulder but his hands aren't tucked away in his pockets like they usually are. He looks all set to go and he actually _does_.

He just leaves.

Me behind, to be specific. I shouldn't be surprised, should I?

Only then, just when he's about to disappear around the corner in the corridor, he stops dead in his tracks.

"Do you want to know," he turns around, towards me, from afar, "why I think it was a mistake?"

When I reply I have to almost yell it to bridge the distance. "That what was a mistake?"

"Summer."

I bite my lip. He never told me he thought it was a mistake in the first place and I can't help but resenting him for it.

"Would it matter?"

"It wouldn't change the facts."

And then, something clicks.

"... No, I don't want to know."

After which he really does turn around the corner.

And doesn't come back.

* * *

There it is.

The conversation.

Auf Wiedersehen  
Josephinee


	16. Sixteen

Hi everyone.

I know it's been a while, but I had THE major deadline of the year yesterday, so writing really was the last thing on my mind. I warn you beforehand for the huge suckage of this chapter, but a new chapter is a new chapter. It's better than nothing, I suppose.

And by the way, in three weeks I'm actually graduated.

**Disclaimer**: Blah blah blah. Same as always.

* * *

**SIXTEEN**

And just when I thought the Malfoy Disease had passed, it knocks me over even worse than before.

The conversation we had two days ago is still fresh and awake in my mind, pestering and annoying me, not letting go for one second. I can't help but wondering what he was going to say when he told me he thought it was a mistake, and I can't help but hating myself for actually admitting that I missing him was all I ever did. We're back to the traditional Me-Pathetic-Him-Not-So-Pathetic pattern I've come to detest so much, and it seems like I've got nothing better to do than ponder over the question what happened to the girl that refused to read books where the female lead character wasn't strong enough.

Ha-ha.

I don't know if I ever told you this, but I harbour deep, intense feelings of hate for the sorry excuse of a wizard.

I hate that he's a smug bastard.

I hate that he thinks he's better than everyone else.

I hate that he always thinks _words_ are going to cut it, while action speaks so much louder it's not even funny.

I hate that he's intelligent and a pretty boy.

I hate that I loved him.

I hate that I sometimes miss him.

I hate that, right now, he's staring loopholes in my back, and that he's staring at the mess he himself created.

Of course, when I woke up and went to class this morning, I did make sure to look okay – applied make-up to conceal the proof of insomnia - but I'm quite certain he manages to see right through that, given that he has the habit of knowing things about me that I wouldn't have ever guessed _he_'d guess. He's currently sitting one row behind me while professor Davidson is droning on and on and Matt is sleeping on his desk on my left.

"Naturally," I hear professor Davidson saying in that booming voice of hers, once I'm able to focus, "since I regard deadlines as something very relevant, I also make sure to correct your projects as soon as possible – either to stimulate or motivate the students." She throws an indignant glance at Matt's sleeping form. I nudge him briefly, but no reaction comes. "As you may know, a lot of students here don't make it through the first half of the year, given their mediocre grades."

Great, professor Davidson. By all means – continue stimulating us!

"It is well-known that LWU is not an easy place to stand your ground, and that no subjects are taken lightly here," she goes on sternly. "The Healer Department, however, demands more effort than any other department – given that what we learn here is how to _save lives_."

"How _inspirational_," Malfoy snickers silently behind me, causing me to turn around momentarily and glare at him.

Fortunately for the boy, our beloved professor hasn't caught wind of his smart-ass remark. "Now, I spent the last two days correcting your projects, and strangely enough, there _was_ a pair who actually got it right."

To which Malfoy mutters: "Imagine the misery of being anyone but me."

The pain, of course, is that he and I were one of those teams, so taking him down a peg or two would also mean taking _me_ down a peg or two.

So instead of wishing bad luck on the both of us, I start coughing loudly.

"Miss Weasley," professor Davidson frowns, "are you quite alright?"

"I'm alright, professor," I reply sweetly, while, under my breath: "It's just that Malfoy's ego's absorbing all the oxygen."

"Oh, the _hilarity_," Malfoy says in the same dimmed tone.

Professor Davidson completely misses the entire exchange. "Good. Let me happily inform you that for the second time this year, miss Weasley, you've scored excellent results. You and mister Malfoy's assigned project was solved with great amount of intelligence and dedication – I can see that."

Then the unthinkable happens.

The wrinkled woman _smiles_.

"Congratulations," she says, and hands us both a copy of our parchment.

Pride swells in my chest, and even though Malfoy's face is probably as blank as a robot, I'm sure he's sort of happy with the result too. That's funny because I don't wish him any happiness. He does not deserve it. His life revolves around making others miserable – why should he get to be content? Why does everything run smoothly when it comes to his luck?

"See, Rose?" Said blond then leans forward and whispers in my ear. "We're on top of the hierarchy – again. Just where we're supposed to be."

I don't move an inch. "Is that so?"

"Survival of the fittest," he nods.

The bell rings.

I sweep my things of the desk. "Then tell me, Malfoy," I look at him pointedly, "why do I feel like we're not at the bottom but beneath it?"

And, because, in all sincerity, I don't want him to come up with a clever retort, I run off hurriedly, leaving a silent Malfoy and a sleeping Matt in my wake.

* * *

After spending Friday night with Albus and his Quidditch mates, getting slightly _après boire_ on Butterbeer and even flying on a broom for a few minutes, I feel considerably better, and anxiety of going on a date with Matt and thus possibly ruining a blossoming friendship is slowly fading. The more Malfoy's words echo in my thoughts, the more I want to prove him wrong.

I am perfectly able to be attracted to someone else.

And today is the day to show myself that I don't _need_ him to fix it.

Putting on a blue trench coat and a thick mahogany coloured scarf to protect myself against the autumn chilliness, I walk out of my dorm to meet Matt. I find him sitting Indian-style against the wall of the building outside, and he immediately jumps up as he sees me. As usual his surfer hair is ruffled and his clothes nonchalant, while, by the way he fidgets his hands, his demeanour seems fairly nervous. The differences between him and The Other Boy are so obvious I can't help but pointing them out inwardly, and to my own disgust I have an urge to perform either a combing, an ironing or a relaxing spell.

"Has anyone ever told you," he grins to cover up the fiddling, "that you're really hot?"

_Malfoy would tell me this so much more subtle. _

I nearly hit myself.

"My mum," I roll my eyes and smile. "Not in the exact same words though."

Matt chuckles. "Bragging mom?"

"Seems familiar?"

"_Matthew_," he mimics in a feminine voice, cracking me up, "_you are looking so handsome, honey! I bet the ladies are lining all up for you!" _

I break into a fit of laughter as we start walking. "Well, aren't they?"

He casually throws an arm around me. He's a not as tall as Malfoy, but to my surprise I fit just right. The way he holds me isn't demanding or possessive – it's playful and reassuring that this day doesn't necessarily have to be uncomfortable.

"From time to time," he shakes his head with a smile. "We're going to use a Portkey to travel, by the way."

"Speaking of which – where are we going?"

"Wait and see," he winks. "Wait and see."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, and I am standing in front of a complex, covered with all kinds of flashy, colourful posters that, oddly enough, aren't moving, and are huge and vibrant. People that are in the queue aren't wearing robes or sporting wands, which makes me realise that we're probably not in the Wizarding world. I know some things about Muggles – things that interest me, such as religion – and I've been in Muggle London plenty of times, but I don't recognise this place. I turn to Matt in question, and he has an air of silent amusement about him.

"Don't just stand there and revel in my bloody vapidity," I command, crossing my arms and tapping my foot in impatience. "You are loving the fact that I don't know what this is, aren't you?"

His typical grin reappears and widens. "This is a once in a lifetime experience, princess. Just give me one more second..."

I give him my very intimidating Evil Glare.

That'll get the boy talking.

"Alright!" He already signs up defeat, causing me to smirk. "It's a cinema complex. You know, where they play films on, like, big screens?"

That rings a bell. "Oh, yeah. We're going to see one or what?"

"I thought..." he trails off for a split moment, suddenly sounding a little insecure again. "It's really the cliché date Muggle high school kids do, but since about zero Wizards pull this trick, I figured, why not give it a go?"

Looking at him with a face that clears up I'm joking, I say, "Well, it's not _that_ much of a rubbish concept..."

Then something remarkable occurs.

He gazes back at me with those hazel eyes of his, reminding me of autumn or fall as he would probably say it, which is funny because we're currently in the middle of brown and red and yellow leaves and it comes to me that when someone reminds you of a fucking _season,_ something is about to go really, really great or really, really bad. The dimples in his cheeks set out, and for one tiny moment, I'm transported back to that night when I met him and had an, however provisional, instant infatuation with him...

And then I realise I'm staring.

"Um," I clear my throat. "What film do you want to see?"

He looks away quickly, shifts his attention to the wall behind me. "See that poster? That's a movie about witches and wizards and magic... Seems pretty hilarious to me."

"I'm with you," I chuckle, and tug on his arm to get in the queue.

I briefly consider Apparating to the front, but I suppose there isn't quite a right way to do that without about hundred Muggles noticing it. So, in spite of my magic abilities, I end up waiting twenty bloody minutes like everyone else. When we finally get through, we enter a huge room, dominated by red and golden colours – comparable to the Gryffindor common room. Matt leads me to one of the black doors with a number above it, and after opening it we're in something that resembles a theatre. We find ourselves some seats on the last row and all too soon I am gaping in fascination as all different kinds of commercials, from what I suppose are other films, roll on the screen.

"You are so cute," Matt mumbles teasingly in my ear.

"Cute isn't exactly the term that comes to mind when I talk about myself."

"I beg to differ."

I'm about to reply, but then the lights go out slowly, silencing the audience. I'm kind of excited to actually see a Muggle film about witches – and have a good laugh about it too. The minute the story starts, my eyes are already shrink-wrapped in tears, and Matt happily joins in the hysterics.

The lead character is sitting on a broom that looks so old Quidditch players would probably break it in two the second they sit on it with their uniforms on. She has a completely disfigured hawknose, and the robes she's wearing are black and frayed.

Yes, people.

Clichés like this do still exist in the year 2024.

Intriguing to say at least.

However stupid this is, I try to get into the storyline, just for the sole fact that I'm doing something I have never done before. The problem though, is that ever since that small incident in the queue, I am strangely aware of Matt's presence. I am aware of the fact that his shoulder is touching mine and that his hand is dangerously close to mine. I wonder if he is aware of this as well, but then again, I'm the pathetic eighteen-year-old girl, so, you know, _probably not_.

I don't know if _you'_ve ever been to the cinema with your maybe-boyfriend-of-the-future, but it surely gets your thoughts in a twist.

Should I take his hand?

Should I lay my head on his shoulder?

Should I kiss him?

_Should I forget about Scorpius Malfoy? _

Do I want to take his hand and do I want to lay my head on his shoulder and do I want to kiss him?

...

Well, yeah.

Do I want to kiss him more than I want to kiss Scorpius Malfoy?

The ways to find out are fairly limited.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I scoot closer and subtly entwine my fingers with his. In the corner of my eye I can see him looking at me, but to evade confrontation, I don't turn my head. His hand palm is, thank Merlin, not sweaty, and a lot rougher than Malfoy's smooth skin. Yet this time I welcome the change. Secretly loving this nervous display of a teenage crush, I attempt once again to transfer my attention back to the hawknosed witch.

Only then –

Matt begins to drop light kisses on my cheek.

It's sweet and it tingles and it makes me anticipate what's to come. It's been a while since anyone has been this kind in the love game – and with that thought I languidly bend my neck to give him better access to the front of my face. In the end his lips land on mine and _oh sweet Merlin_ why didn't we do this before?

Screw funny Muggle films.

Snogging eye-candy Matthew Evans _so_ beats it.

His kisses are soft and sensual and provoking. This doesn't feel hasty or rushed at all. It's like we're just two carefree people who've got all the time in the world, with his fingers roaming over my back and mine clasped behind his neck. He smiles against my lips and when he briefly lets go to suck in some air, I miss the contact immediately.

"You were right," he whispers with a grin, "You're not cute. You're just hot."

And after that, let me tell you, we end up seeing absolutely nothing of ugly witches with old brooms and disfigured noses.

* * *

"Man, best movie I've seen in a while."

"Wow, yeah, the plot twist was so unexpected!"

"And the actress was just incredible."

"Never seen one like it – and trust me, I've seen about every movie ever made."

"Oh, I'm sure."

Giggle. Giggle. Giggle.

Laying it heavy on the sarcasm, Matt and I arrive back at my dorm with his arm over me like before. We're laughing _again_, and it's been ages since I've behaved this way, especially sober, which simply is _exhilarating_. It's almost like I have no worries.

Almost.

"Want me to put you to sleep, princess?" he murmurs in my ear while gently closing the space between me and the wall. This, of course, is a bland invitation to sleep with him, which really is –

_Well_.

There's a familiar warmth in my stomach that desperately makes me want to scream yes, but there's also, out of the blue, a pull that makes me think of before...

_Do I want to kiss him more than I want to kiss Scorpius Malfoy?_

"I..."

Almost no worries, as I said.

"I'm sorry," he quickly says, putting his index finger on my lower lip. "We won't go too fast. I respect you."

Considering this is coming from the boy whom I ditched to shag Malfoy, my admiration for him grows and suddenly I'm extra grateful to know someone like him.

"Thank you," I say quietly, sincerely.

He nods understandingly. "I'll say goodbye to you here then."

"Goodbye, Matt," I reply, shooting down the urge to smile at his kindness for what seems the millionth time today. "I _kind of_ had a marvellous time."

"I kind of had a marvellous time too," he gives me one last peck on the lips and strokes my cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow or Monday, I assume..."

"I'll seek you out."

My promise hangs in the hall way as he leaves and vanishes behind the corner. I want to go inside, but something – that _one_ worry – hovers over me like a dark cloud, in an aggravating and never-ending way.

There's Matt kiss.

And then there's the ultimate question.

And honestly – the ways to find out are fairly limited.

Which is why, once I'm completely certain that Matt is gone, I end up nearly _running_ to Malfoy's building, knocking on Malfoy's door, feeling guilty and stupid and –

What.

Is.

Wrong

With.

Me?

I sort of hope he won't open the door, but that all goes in vain as in a flash he is in front of me.

"One day."

Malfoy stares at me with his hand still wrapped around the door handle. _Those_ eyes are burning into my skull and I wonder if they're busy deciphering my database – since it is what I would do. It's late, but he looks alert and awake as ever, with his not so crumpled oxford shirt and platinum hair perfectly in place.

Am I being an idiot?

Am I searching for excuses?

"One day," I repeat, more clearly now, "is all you get."

He catches on immediately. The corners of his mouth lift upwards, forming a slight smirk, and he drawls, "You feel like you're a masochist now, don't you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, which is not exactly a compliment for you," I note drily.

I wait for a reply but nothing comes.

"What are you trying to get out of me?"

"I am merely musing over the question..." his gaze grows scrutinising. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

I know what he wants to hear, and I wisely ignore it.

"One day," I remind him.

I turn around to finally find my bed, and when I'm almost at the end of the corridor, I hear him calling behind me. "I'll make sure you don't regret it, Rose."

And that's a strange thing, if you want to know.

There no characteristic cockiness in his voice. No arrogance, no condescending tone, no nothing. Instead it sounds oddly honest.

Like a promise.

Just like the one I just made to The Other Other Boy.

* * *

... and like the promise I'm now making to my readers to write a better chapter next time.

farväl mina vänner  
Josephinee

(I'm out of languages. Help me out here XD)


	17. Seventeen

**To the person that felt the uncontrollable urge to insult my story, resorting to infantile and pathetic ways while doing so:** your lack of intelligence astounds me. It sincerely saddens me that I'm being exposed to retarded human beings such as yourself. Hate to break it to you honey, but 'the personality that best fits them'? You do realise canon Rose and Scorpius have no personality at all, don't you?  
Also, really, if you're as 'seriouslyyoung' as your name implies, you're not even supposed to be reading this. Get lost, maybe a life while you're at it, and learn how to conjugate the verb 'to be' if you want me to take you seriously. Cheers.

**To everyone else**: thanks for the feedback, especially the suggestions for all the translations of farewell ;)

**Disclaimer:** no copyright infringement intended. JK Rowling owns everything that seems familiar to you (if I did I sure as hell wouldn't have given Draco a 'receding hairline', good grief)

* * *

**SEVENTEEN  
**

"So, Albus," I quip up, "do you thinks Rose Evans suits me?"

It's Saturday morning and I'm sitting on my cousin's bed.

Albus, who's still half asleep, pulls his pillow over his head, and from what I can understand from the muffled sounds, he says: "Fuck off."

I steal the pillow away from him again. "I'm serious. Do you think it's a nice name?"

"Who bloody cares," he murmurs, turning to his side to avoid me.

"You're such a twat, Albus," I say angrily, hating that he's ignoring me like this when I'm in _obvious pain. _"Don't come complaining to me later when I didn't tell you my secrets!"

He simply groans in reply.

I jump off his bed and storm out the room.

Sweet Merlin, where is Louis when you need him? Honestly. There is no one to talk to in this whole place except for Albus 'The Ignorant Bastard' Potter and Matthew 'I Cannot Live Without You' Evans. And when the first one leaves you standing in the cold

- insert dramatic soundtrack here –

when you want to nag about the second, you haven't got many options left.

Although, there is one.

Which brings me to my plans for later on. As we all know and certainly haven't forgotten, me and my temporary insanity have agreed to Malfoy to go out with him. I haven't talked to him in the past seven days, unless you count vague greetings and semi-insults as verbal ways of communicating, partly because talking to each other hasn't been exactly our biggest habit in the last months, and mostly because Matt has been glued to my hip and Malfoy happens to despise the boy.

Maybe because of that, he's the ideal candidate.

I like Matt.

I really, really do.

If only it weren't for the fact that he's... well... _clingy_.

He holds my hand in the hallways, he _strokes_ my hand in class, he's constantly hanging around me as if to prevent me from, Merlin forbid, talking to other people, and out of nowhere, without even _asking_ me, he's decided that we're boyfriend and girlfriend. Not that he brought this up in a "WE ARE BOYFRIEND AND GIRLFRIEND NOW, YOU UNDERSTAND ME, LITTLE SLAVE?" way, but he's told others that I'm 'his girl'. I had to find this out from a class mate. It took all of my will power to not go up to my apparent Boyfriend Forever and say: "Oh, nice of you to let me now that I'm suddenly a _possession_ of yours."

Now, I know what everyone's thinking.

You're thinking: can that bitch never be happy? She has a nice, good-looking, intelligent boyfriend who happens to really, really like her and acts on his feelings.

Well, I agree with you there.

The unfortunate thing about it is that being _overly_ interested doesn't bring balance. I don't need to be asked if I'm okay every second of the hour. I mean –

_Are you okay, Rose? Shall I carry your books for you?_

_Are you sure you're alright? I could get you your lunch if you want!_

_You don't have a headache, do you? Want me to fill in that paper?_

Oh, yes, would you like to breathe for me too?

I'm actually beginning to miss his mocking smiles and Bitch!Rose comments.

The more I think about it, the more I'm looking forward to Malfoy's cutting remarks and cold smirks. Of course I couldn't tell Matt about our get-together, since I cherish my life, thank you very much. I gave him a lame excuse about 'family business', and then nearly ran away from him.

Inhale.

Freedom.

Exhale.

Malfoy, you _better_ have something extraordinary planned.

* * *

When I meet him at the lake, Malfoy's standing with his hands in his tailored trousers – how _typical_ – and a Slytherin scarf is draped around his neck. I try not to focus on how good-looking I find him to be, time and time again, and walk over to him.

"Is that Rose Weasley..." Malfoy's mouth forms an O when he sees me, "... without Evans? Strange. I ought to get my eyes checked."

"165 pounds of hilarity – please welcome Scorpius Malfoy," I shoot back.

"Sarcasm does not become you, love," he drawls cruelly.

"Remind me why I agreed to this?"

There it is – the first smirk of the day. "Because Evans is boring the fuck out of you and you know it."

"I can still walk out, you know," I say, already realising that I won't.

"Oh, but I have such a nice place to show you," he protests alluringly.

I really am kind of curious about what we're going to do, but I can't let him see that. "What a shame."

Unlike Matt he doesn't take my hand or throws his arm around my shoulder to lead me around, but expects that I'm doing okay on my own. I walk beside him as he strolls next to the lake, further and further away from the L.W.U. buildings.

"Do we have to walk for a long time?" I ask when after a while L.W.U. disappears behind a bunch of trees.

"Are you going to nag if we will?"

I sigh. "If it annoys you I might just consider it."

"We don't have to walk for a long time, okay?" He says in a fatherly manner. "We wouldn't want to strain you, now would we?"

"You obviously don't know me as well as you think then," I respond petulantly.

"Care to make a wager?"

It takes me a few minutes to answer, seeing as I'm having a hard time climbing up some stupid hill in the forest. What happened to good old _Apparation_?

"Not a wager per se," I say eventually, face probably red and puffy and endearingly unattractive, "but if I ask you a few questions and you come up with the right answer, you'll make your point."

But then I'm momentarily speechless.

The top of the hill results in some sort of open platform, with the rest of the landscape surrounding it, as a circle littered with trees, houses, the L.W.U. complex. I wonder why the hell I've never seen this before, but then it hits me that I haven't exactly been 'discovering' the environment. True – there was the campfire. But other than that?

"How did you find this?"

Malfoy sits down on the grass, strangely unaffected by the fact that this might stain his trousers, with his knees bent and his arms folded on top of them. If I'd brought a camera I would've taken a picture, so I could just stare at it without the fear of him raising his head and telling me I'm a stalker or something.

"Just... wandering around."

As I plant myself next to him, Indian-style, I nod understandingly. "You used to do that after Quidditch practises in Hogwarts too."

"Yeah," he gazes into distance, but then I notice him looking at me from the corner of his eye. "See, if you know things about me like that, why wouldn't I know everything about you?"

I laugh quietly. "What's my favourite colour?"

"Red," he says, extremely fast. "You told me during that one detention."

"Favourite coffee?"

"With a tinge of caramel and cream."

Damn it.

I briefly consider lying, but he's absolutely right. "Favourite piece of clothing?"

"Low-waist jeans, because it's flattering for your body type," he says with an amused expression.

Go figure. "Favourite smell?"

"Mint," and then, of course, "my cologne."

I singsong, "You _wish_."

He pays no heed to that, but he _almost_ smiles. "My turn."

"Bring it on, mister."

"Favourite book?"

Easy.

I think of the evenings we spent in our common room, each on the other side of the couch, the only sounds audible being the flipping of old pages. Every thirty minutes one of us would make a comment about something remarkable that occurred in the story, and the other would either be too engrossed in his own literature, or turn the monologue into a dialogue. It's one of those things we shared – books. Especially Muggle books.

"Nausea," I reply resolutely. "Sartre."

He nods. "Classic. Favourite subject in Hogwarts?"

Easier.

He told me the answer once, explicitly, but he didn't need to. Over those seven years he'd always been the best, better than myself as I hate to admit, at it, and he'd explained to me that it ran in his genes.

"Potions."

"Correct. Favourite season?"

Easiest.

Next to the obvious reasons, I was always glad that Malfoy was Head Boy so that I never had to visit him in the Slytherin Dungeons. We did go down there sometimes, mostly for Stephano, but also because Malfoy had developed a strange urge to introduce me to his little Slytherin minions (the stupid show off). The reason why I disliked the place so much wasn't because of the people, but because of the temperature. Malfoy revels in the cold and would probably be able to spend the rest of his life on the north pole. Probably because his skin calls for it, you know.

I chuckle a little at that thought. "Winter."

For a split second he looks a little thrown off by my inside joke, like he's the outsider and hates to be excluded, but he immediately disregards it. "Correct again. Second person ever I talked to on the Hogwarts Express?"

How beyond ironic that he's bringing this up.

"Me," I say, tone drier than sand, "you were talking to Stephano about how funny-looking and ugly I was. Then, when I entered the compartment and called you an albino, you told me I was a _drama queen_."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," he says, non-committed, obviously not meaning a word of it.

I glance at him, sideways, slightly amused. "You sure know how to make heartfelt apologies, Malfoy."

Glancing back with a cocked eyebrow, he asks, "Do you really want me to go down on my knees for something that happened eight years ago?"

"For what happened a few months ago would do."

It slips out before I know it.

I instantly wish I could take it back, but the damage has been done. The peaceful atmosphere of before quickly evaporates, leaving us both uncomfortable in this new twist of events. Truth is – it's been a while since I've had a good time with him, and it's sort of okay for now, and I don't want to see it ruined by some callous remark on his side.

"Do you really want me to?"

He sounds neutral. And maybe a tad curious.

"It wouldn't change the facts," I mumble, repeating his words from our last fight.

He switches his position and faces me with an unreadable expression. "Because I would, you know."

As always, very matter-of-factly, as a statement, with no hidden desperation at all.

My breath hitches in my throat as I wonder how fast this conversation went from light as a feather to heavy as the books Malfoy once forced me to carry on his behalf.

"Scorpius," I speak up, "when I said to you that I missed you before, you didn't say a thing. Forgive me for doubting the sincere nature of your apologies."

"I practically begged you to go out with me today. Doesn't that in itself show that I still want to have some sort of contact with you?" He retorts, staring at me with scrutinising metal eyes.

I gape at him in return. "Oh please. That _hardly_ qualified as _begging_."

"Okay, so I may have suggested it. It basically comes down to the same thing anyway. I expressed a desire to – "

"Save the smooth words," I cut him off. "You and I _both_ know that this was the result of your wounded ego."

He seems a little ticked off at this. "My ego doesn't reign over my mind, you know."

That was... _almost_ believable.

"No," I snort, "that would be another anatomical part."

"Very witty, Weasley," he shakes his head in mock indignation. "And anyway, just because I didn't say it, doesn't mean that I didn't miss you."

Not being able to help it, I eye him suspiciously. "Are you drunk?"

I also do my best to ignore the fact that out of nowhere my stomach's doing summersaults. I don't have to ask myself where this nervousness is coming from, since I'm sitting next to my ex-boyfriend whom I still think about more than I reckon I'm prescribed to, and he's about to come up with a feeble attempt to spill his non-existing heart.

"Yes," he says snappishly, "that's why I'm singing Slytherin house themes and pulling off stupid dance moves."

Then something hits me. "Did someone put a spell on you? Hex you? Or wait - put a potion in your drink?"

He sighs, hits his forehead with both his hand palms, and groans, "Oh good _grief_, Rose, is it _that_ implausible that I missed you?"

"Well, yes." I blink, fairly surprised at his outburst. "And it is even more implausible that you're _telling_ me this."

He then puts his moves his hands from his forehead to my shoulders, in order to literally _shake_ me. "Hello? Earth to Rose Weasley?" He exclaims. "I dated you for _eight _fucking_ months_. We talked every single day! We were together _so_ much, and then suddenly – bam, _zeroed_."

With narrowed eyes I look at the visible frustration on his perfect face. "No shit, Sherlock. Thanks for the reminder."

"Look," he goes on, not stopping the shaking in the slightest - trying to shake me _awake_, "I missed you, okay? I _miss_ you, present tense. You're annoying as hell but in the summer I nearly drank myself into _oblivion_ because I missed you so – "

Then his voice suddenly drops out.

And so does my heart.

"_What_?" I say, barely audible, utterly dumbfounded.

He must've realised – what he considers – his mistake, and lets go of my shoulders as if been burned.

"Well," he coughs uncomfortably, "let's pretend those words didn't just come out of my mouth, shall we?"

Slowly recovering from the confession, I gape at him. "You weren't joking, were you?"

"Yes I was," he says a little too quickly, not even bothering to make it sound like it's the truth.

"We just established that I know you fairly well, so quit the lying," I comment. Then, as a sarcastic afterthought, "It was a solid effort though."

"Cheers," he responds just as sarcastically.

"So, the one million dollar question – why?"

"What do you mean, _why_?"

I roll my eyes at his idiocy. "Why do or did you miss me?"

A flicker of disgust passes in his eyes. "You don't want me to talk about my feelings, do you?" He shudders in revulsion. "This is only so much emo language I can take for one day."

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Scared?" I offer tauntingly.

He scowls. "Scared? _Never_."

"Tell me, then," I say smugly.

"Give it a rest."

"Sca-haareeddd."

"Sod off."

"Scaaa-haaa-haaarreeedddddd."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you _are_."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Look what we have here."

Um.

_Wait_.

That voice was significantly unlike both mine and Malfoy's.

Caught off guard, we exchange a freaked out glance and look behind us. To my bafflement I find two broad men standing there, wearing uniforms I recognise to be from the Ministry. With a frown marring my forehead, I'm the first the speak up.

"Eh, hi?"

One of the guards, a seemingly thirty-year-old who has quite a threatening air about him, does the talking. "I should've known... that it would be one of those spoilt kids with famous parents..."

Well, nice meeting you too, douchebag.

"I assume you're not talking about us, are you?" I say snootily.

"See this, Sofia?" The tough guy mutters. "She has a smart mouth too!"

When the other, mentally-impaired looking idiot fails to answer, I'm very, very tempted to inquire if maybe he's mute. But then again, they do actually seem like real Ministry employees, so on second thought I wisely shut my trap.

And, by the way, which respectable man is called _Sofia_ in England?

"You're on forbidden grounds, _private_ grounds, as you very well know," he bites when he notices I've zipped up, "so I'm afraid I'll have to take the two of you with me."

My jaw drops to the bottom with the speed of lightning.

I turn to Malfoy to see if the cat got his tongue, but then it appears that he's wearing a... sheepish?... face. This make me stop dead in my tracks.

"Wait," I utter, perplexed for what feels the millionth time today, "you knew this was a forbidden place?"

The epitome of innocence, he schools his features into their original eleven-year-old, angelic state. "I did not?"

"Are you done whining?" The man interrupts our little conversation. "You don't want us to use our wands to take you with us, do you?"

Pft.

I could probably take you _both_ when it comes a duel!

Realising that this wouldn't be the smartest way to go, I simply grunt and reward Malfoy with a glare while I stand up.

If this is his idea of a nice date, the boy has issues.

Merlin help me.

* * *

Vaarwel mijn vrienden

Josephinee


	18. Eighteen

Apologies for the late update! First I had exams and then celebrations. I am no longer a high school student and I'm going to uni next year!

I might want to warn you for suckage, seeing as I'm in MAJOR Post Party State atm.

**Disclaimer:** no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**EIGHTEEN**

"I hate you."

"Tell me something new."

"_Why_ do you always want to screw me over?"

"Because I _didn't_. It's not like I wanted them to find us there!"

"Excuse me, Malfoy, but the fact that you knew we were trespassing – "

"_As if_ you really give a shit."

"As if? Honestly, we're in fucking _jail_!"

"Boohoo. Do you need a tissue now too?"

"How can you act this sarcastic when we're officially declared as _delinquents_?"

"Oh, _please_. Your mum works at the _Ministry_ and my dad is rich enough to bail an entire student body out if that situation ever presented itself."

And so the story goes.

Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy arguing like two children in a cell, behind bars, waiting for either parent to show up and help them out of here. You might find this comical, but seeing as I actually _am_ one of those two characters, the fun part _magically_ vanishes.

"_Whatever_," I snap. "I still hate you."

Malfoy's eyes hit the ceiling. "Good grief. Your originality astonishes me."

"I can't believe you're _still_ being an annoying prick after you and your lack of intelligence managed to get us both arrested!" I shriek, cursing my luck.

I'm sitting on a wooden seat and I don't have a wand to charm it into a fauteuil. My butt hurts, my head hurts, and as soon as my mum catches up with the newest 411, so will my freedom. I'm tired and hungry and it's almost eleven o'clock and we're still waiting to get out of here.

To say I'm in a bad mood would be an understatement.

You would not want to cross paths with me this very moment.

"I hope you never produce little redheaded creatures in the future," the object of my frustration mumbles, "because they sure as hell won't survive a nagging mum like you."

"At least my children will know the difference between money and love," I scowl. "And yes. There _is_ a difference."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Well, that _is_ debatable..."

Realising that he's just saying this because he knows it riles me up, I ignore him and lean my head against the hard stone wall. I'd use my sweater as a pillow, but then again, it's frosty enough in this place as it is.

"Are you cold?" he asks after noticing my shivering.

"No," I reply curtly.

"I'm just curious, Rose, but what exactly do you get out of lying in this context?"

I glower. "It's not like you're the type to hand out sweaters when you're not threatened by some other boy, like, say, Matt or something."

"So you _are_ cold and you do want my sweater then?" He asks provokingly.

Not willing to give him the opportunity to reject my desire, I look the other way.

"Oh, come on, Rose. Just _ask_."

"Sod off."

"Ask."

"Sod _off_."

"Okay then."

Another shiver runs through my body.

"_Fine_! Can I have your sweater?"

The pedantic, exasperating smirk has wormed its way onto his stupid face. "You forgot the magic word."

"You mean _Crucio_?" I mutter darkly.

"That's no sweater for Rose Weasley, then."

I groan. "Alright. Can I have your sweater, _please_?"

He looks like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Oh, yes, of course you may."

I nearly rip the cashmere sweater out of his hands when he offers it. I immediately put it on beneath my jacket and do my best to not show how much warmth the damned thing brings. Malfoy cannot feel good about this, period.

"You're not expecting a love proclamation now, are you?"

"Kissing my feet will do."

I marvel at my own misery. "I'm going to fall asleep now and hopefully I'll be in a comfortable bed when I wake up, without _you_."

"Please go ahead. A little peace and quiet wouldn't hurt," he says, popping his elbows behind his head for support.

I close my eyes. "Great. Don't sleep tight."

And so the story goes further.

* * *

I don't know how much time has passed, or what's happened exactly, but when I wake up I find myself in a strange predicament. First of all there's the fact that my back aches like hell, secondly there are _bars_ in front of me.

Thirdly, my head is lying on Malfoy's shoulder.

And my hand is entwined with his.

As I carefully turn to look at him, I see that he's peacefully asleep. He doesn't seem as agitated as he usually is, and he is, once again, the image of aesthetic beauty with the straight nose, high cheekbones and fair eyelashes. His hand isn't sweaty but fits just as well as it always has – irritatingly enough. I stare at the source of our contact and suddenly wonder if he still loves me.

I mean, there must be something. I just can't make out _what_.

It's never that simple.

And, more importantly, do I still love _him_?

Sure, he annoys the hell out of me. That's undoubtedly established. But I also like to talk to him, because he comes up with clever insults and he's smart and he knows just how to push my buttons. I find that I'm pretty unable to stay mad at him over little things – like our argument earlier – but can't get over the fights that really caused something inside of me to twist.

When the said boy moves a little, I quickly disconnect my hand from his and make sure to leave a bit a space between the two of us in case he regains consciousness and we end up in awkward situations.

"... Rose?" he murmurs in an unclear voice.

"Yeah?"

"Where are we?"

I yawn sleepily. "Jail. Trespassing."

He glances at his watch. "It's one o'clock. Isn't somebody supposed to pick us up?"

"All we can do is wait," I shrug, giving in to the fact that we're stuck here.

"I hate waiting," he whines.

I roll my eyes and try to come up with a better subject. "So earlier we were asking each other these questions... and I was thinking, there has to be something I don't know about you."

He looks at me, sideways, but I can't read his expression, not even between the lines. He doesn't reply for quite some time, leading me to believe he's not going to.

"Are you ignoring me?" I ask, a little annoyed. "If anyone's allowed to ignore the other, I reckon it's – "

"I once hit my grandfather."

It comes out of nowhere, and I can't say I'm not surprised. "What?"

"Seriously," he says, indeed in a very grave tone, "you know how important family is in the Malfoy legacy?"

"Of course."

He sighs deeply. "Well, truth is, I couldn't care less, you know? It's always about keeping up appearances, and alright, I'm cool with that. No big deal. It's just that... they seem to forget it's an _appearance_ most of the time." Shaking his head ostentatiously, he goes on. "It's not like the world respects us the same way they did before. My blood is purer than snow and it means shit now. The only people that don't seem to grasp this are, indeed, the _Malfoys_."

Wondering where the hell this suddenly comes from, my curiosity is definitely peaked. I've always known that Malfoy isn't that fond of his family – even though he _does_ love his parents, I'm fairly sure – but he never really talked about it that much.

"And then there's my grandfather, who's a complete bastard living on Death Eater Denial Island," he rolls his eyes, "and it's like _everything_ I do isn't good enough. I used to despise the fact that my father demands perfection... but can you blame him with Lucius for a parent?"

"Probably not," I elaborate, vaguely thinking about the times my dad whined about Draco Malfoy at breakfast and my mum shushing him.

He gives a mocking smile. "Every time I visit my grandparents, something I only do because my father forces me to and because my grandmother actually loves me, there's always something wrong with me. I didn't win the last Quidditch game, or a didn't get the best scores on a test, and so on. Then there was this day in the summer..." he eyes me meaningfully. "I came home after I'd spent a couple of weeks at Stephano's, _completely_ hung over, and suddenly he's there, waiting for me, waiting to _criticise_ me... And I just punched him right in the face."

I can't help it.

I break into a laughing fit.

"I'm sorry," I bring out, "it's just..."

"Yeah, I know," he cracks a smirk as well, "it _was_ quite funny, actually. He looked like he was going to Avada me on the spot."

The more I think about the image, the more hilarious it gets. "Come on! You couldn't have just _hexed_ him the way _normal_ wizards do?"

"It was an impulse," he emphasises, chuckling, "I wanted to _feel_ my fist breaking his nose."

"Charming," I snort. "Did the experience live up to your expectations?"

"Uh, no. That's the moment reality set in. The old man looked ready to _murder_ me."

I'm still reeling with laughter. "Sweet. Did he?"

"He didn't get the chance. I ran away before he could and made it look like I was walking out on him rather than sprinting away in fear," Malfoy admits jokingly, becoming just a little more human again.

"So," I say, hiccupping, "what did he tell you that got you so mad anyway?"

Silence.

Five seconds.

Twenty seconds.

A minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes?

"He said he was _proud_ of me for getting rid of you," it comes out uncharacteristically quiet, "and it's the first time he's ever said he was proud of me."

"That's..."

Yeah okay, Rose.

What is it exactly? Is it sad for him to have such a bastard for a grandfather or are you secretly ecstatic that he punched said bastard for _you_? Did he actually punch him for you or was it just the result of years of frustration?

"... fascinating."

How eloquent of me.

Seriously.

He's about to say something, but suddenly the sound of keys clattering against bars becomes apparent. We both look up in surprise that we hear something after so long, and fortunately we see that the guard is not alone. Happy that something can pull me out of this I-Don't-Know-What-To-Say-Issue, I jump up and hurry to the other end of the cell, where my very own mother is standing. It's late, but she doesn't look too angry – just exhausted – and she's eyeing the guard rather distastefully. I'm sure this stems from the inconvenience that she had to climb out of her beloved bed to come and get us out of here rather than her dislike for him personally, but I still find it somewhat funny when Hermione Weasley the Philanthropist acts on her impatience.

"Hi mum!" I say cheerfully, hoping that this will aid. "Isn't this funny, ha-ha-ha?"

"Terribly," she says drily, while the guard opens the door.

I walk out with Malfoy in my wake. "I swear I had no idea, mum."

Standing next to me now, she takes in my appearance with a scrutinising gaze. It makes me feel small and a good ten years younger. "Of course, lady. Of course."

"Err," Malfoy coughs uneasily. "Hi Mrs. Weasley."

She turns to him as if she hadn't noticed he was there yet – even though I'm sure she has, seeing as _nothing_ escapes my mother's notice. "Oh, hello there, Scorpius."

I'm tempted to say this is all his fault, but I decide it may be better if I don't.

"So, Rose," she sighs in a very motherly way, "I hope you understand I'm not going to stay and chat, given that I have to go to work tomorrow and keep this little incident out of the press, but I will see you again soon." She puts an arm around me. "And yes, honey, we will discuss this."

My mum can be scary sometimes, even without her wand and angry tone.

Therefore, I simply nod and smile the best smile I can muster. "Okay, mum. We're allowed to go, aren't we?"

"Yes. Thank Merlin I'm well-connected."

She gives me a quick hug and bids Malfoy goodbye – whom she secretly despises since he hurt me that bad over the summer – before taking off. I almost can't believe we're free, just like this, but then again, my mother is indeed well-connected at the Ministry. I also regret that I haven't seen her in so long and that we only had five minutes to catch up, but I get it. She has to work. I have to go and find my dorm. I'm grown up now.

Too bad I'm still dependent enough to have her get me out of jail.

Quite sad, if you think about it.

"So," Malfoy pipes up while the guard hands us our wands with a grunt, leading me to guess he can't talk, "what are we going to do now?"

"What do you mean?" I ask incredulously. "I want to go to sleep!"

"Oh, no," he protests, "you promised me _one day_. As far as I can remember, a day still consists of twenty-four hours."

I gape at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You're probably not even that tired," he argues.

We go out the building. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" He shoots back smartly.

The wind hits me quite forcefully. Not even Malfoy's sweater helps against the almost-winter temperature and soon my teeth are clattering.

"It's freezing. I want my warm bed."

"And if we go somewhere as warm as your bed?" He suggests. "We're in London anyway. I know some cool places."

I realise it's a lost cause.

The way he's looking at me, like he knows he's already won me over just by the simple fact that technically I did make him a promise and I, for one, don't break my promises.

"Something as warm as the warmest bed in the world, alright?" I concede.

Something resembling a smile tugs on his lips. "I'll make sure of it."

And so the story goes further and further.

* * *

Luck is not with us tonight.

Of course Malfoy's idea of the warmest place in the world is a club – not too farfetched, seeing as it's two in the morning – but things are not going as planned. We just arrived at his favourite place, a place we even visited before with Stephano, but now the very-intimidating looking bouncer doesn't want to let us in because it is full. Naturally, this doesn't go too well with Malfoy, spoilt child extraordinaire, and thus the scene goes like this:

Malfoy: "You don't get it! I'm Scorpius Malfoy!"

Bouncer: "I'm sorry kiddo, but you're still not coming in."

Malfoy: "So you're just going to let us stand here?"

Bouncer: "Yep."

Malfoy: "And what if I'll pay thrice the usual price?"

Bouncer: "_Still_ full."

Malfoy (looking like he wants to stamp his foot by now): "You can't be serious."

Bouncer (looking like he wants to stamp _Malfoy_'s foot by now): "It's time to go now, mister Malfoy."

Malfoy: "Whatever. This place sucks anyway."

Real mature, love. Real mature.

The bouncer looks terrifically enervated at the blond standing in front of him. If I didn't want to get in so badly by now as well, I probably would've agreed with the man. When he slams the door closed behind him, however, I'm about to stamp my foot right with my ex-boyfriend.

"Don't worry," I say bitterly, "it's just that fate hates me."

"No, it doesn't," he replies with conviction.

"This is _horrible_, Scorpius."

Then, strangely, it's as if a light goes on in his head. "I know how we can make this better."

I throw him a questioning look.

He doesn't respond vocally, but actually takes my hands, puts them on his shoulder, circles his arms around my waist – breathe, breathe, _breathe_, Rose – and starts...

I tilt my head in amazement. "Do you want to dance here?"

"Why not?" He says softly, swaying slightly, "You can still hear the music, and I don't want to go to sleep, and I like dancing with you. I got you in jail, the least I can do is..."

I rest against his chest and sway with him. "Yes?"

"Not making you regret this," he finishes.

And then, something remarkable happens.

As his warmth engulfs my senses, and as he takes me in his arms, and as he presses me closer, and as he moves with me, innocently as this is, I can _feel_ my heart beating. You know that most of the time you're not actually aware of the fact that your heart is pumping and keeping you alive, right? Well, you may have experienced this or you may have not, but sometimes, just... sometimes, you meet somebody that makes you realise that there is something beating in your chest. Your heart speeds up and goes faster and faster... and you think, _why on earth do I feel this way?_

"You really didn't know they were going to arrest us, did you?"

Malfoy shakes his head. "I promise."

"Then we're both truthful tonight," I conclude, wondering if maybe this is where I really want to be.

Everything's so familiar, but so different at the same time. It's been like that since the first day we entered the L.W.U., but it has only intensified. There is so much more to us. There is so much more than just an attraction neither of us can't deny. There's pain and heartbreak and self-pity and fury and maybe... maybe –

Do I still love him?

Does he still love me?

"Scorpius," I speak up, letting the automatic rhythm leading us, "I have to ask you something. Just don't... stop this, alright?"

He stares at me those grey eyes that shine even in the darkness. "Yeah."

"Do you still love me?"

There.

There we go.

One fraction of a second he freezes, but then he remembers that he just told me he wouldn't stop. Everything inside of me has seemed to be put on hold, counting the steps we take before he replies. It's excruciating and I almost want to kill myself for asking it in the first place. All it's going to do is bring me down and I'm suddenly nervous as hell.

"Yes."

And so the world stops for a split moment.

"... Okay."

I smile against his jacket.

I smile like I really, really haven't smiled in a long time.

I sway, and he sways, and we sway together, just like we always have, and there are no bad memories.

The story goes on further and further.

And we're all wishing this isn't a dream.

* * *

If you spot any mistakes, please tell me.  
It's really late and I wanted to update quickly, so I might have missed a few!

do widzenia  
Josephinee


	19. Nineteen

Yay, a chapter I myself like, for once!

QUESTION THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH PARAMNESIA (just b/c I'm good at that): I was watching the movie Mean Girls the other day (total guilty pleasure), and was wondering if American high schools really have their stereotypical popular cliques. I know this is completely off the subject, but American readers, enlighten me!

Now that that's out of my system...

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended. Everything recognisable belongs to JK Rowling

* * *

**NINETEEN**

It wasn't a dream.

But, as always, reality has its way of catching up faster than you're prepared for.

Malfoy and I waited to go to sleep until six o'clock in the morning. We stopped dancing not too long after his confession, because it hung in the air all too clearly, all too unnaturally. Don't get me wrong - there _was_ a significant relief, an undeniable bliss washing over when he'd finally said the one word out loud.

_Yes._

_Yes I still love you._

But there you go. It's just a word, isn't it? An honest one, probably, but a couple of characters stringed together nevertheless. And I think that ten minutes after the blinding happiness had faded into a somewhat more rational perception, I started to realise that the single 'yes' didn't have the same meaning it would've had a year ago. In semantic terms: when Scorpius Malfoy told me he loved me _before_ the Summer Incident, all there was to it was _joy_, while _this time_, the aforementioned joy was jaded. Jaded because the name 'Scorpius Malfoy' does not only generate feelings such as love, but also a unambiguous bitterness, stemming from the fact that he did not only sleep with somebody else, but failed to explain afterwards, and abandoned me out of sheer – what? Fear? Or because saying nothing was simply the easiest way out?

What I'm trying to say is that, after the initial euphoria had worn off, I understood that 'yes' wasn't enough.

And I think he got it earlier than I did.

The thing is, he didn't try to kiss me once. Not while overlooking the landscape, not in jail, not while dancing, not during the six-hour conversation afterwards. At first this seemed fairly uncharacteristic to me – given that the boy is the biggest opportunist I've ever met – but then it dawned on me that the 'I still love you' was an attempt to be sincere rather than to lure me back to him. Does he want me back? I guess so. Does he want to force me to go back to him? He doesn't. He knows it's fairly easy to connect with me on a provisional basis. We both know that. Lust and temporary insanity were never the problem. I never spelled it out for him, but it's getting through him how much he actually hurt me, and I'm not the kind of girl you can _sweet talk_ into the renewal of a relationship.

He knows me better than that.

Just like I know him better than to think he simply lost interest.

Fortunately, though, none of this prevented us from having a great night, even after the dancing was done. We sat down in an alley, where Malfoy managed to transfigure a piece of wood into one cup of tea (for me) and one cup of coffee (for him). Instead of delving deeper into possible I-Still-Love-You-So-Let's-Get-Married-And-Make-Babies conversations, we talked to each other as if talking to an old friend – which, technically, he is. We made a trip down to memory lane and ended up reminiscing about Good Times.

(Remember that time we were walking on the stairs and Stephano tripped? – Ah, yes, and then he went mental when we couldn't help him because we were laughing too hard – Or that time Sandra Nott hexed Albus because she caught him kissing another girl while she thought they were exclusive? – Or, no, no, no, that time _Louis_ snogged Sandra? - Oh Merlin, that was _priceless_! – And when professor McGonagall accidently swore? – _Awesome_ – Remember those times we danced in the rain? – I... would never forget that)

This is deceptive.

Reminiscing Good Times is deceptive.

It nestles you in a profile you're no longer in. It incites nostalgia, and nostalgia is only nice when, over all, the present is a better or at least an equal alternative. Moreover, memories are always idealised. I think it's in our human nature to make ourselves believe that life wasn't always shit. Because when life has been good at one point, the possibility for it to turn good again isn't out of sight, you know? Whereas, if you're too far gone, too far away from Good Times, you _do_ lose sight of it.

I mean, all in all, what Scorpius and I both were both trying to do was remembering without disconnecting from reality.

Pretty hard, if not impossible...

But at least it wasn't a dream.

* * *

The next week the strangeness of the situation becomes clearer and clearer.

Sometimes it's like our little night out never happened at all. Pretty Boy and I have a silent agreement to not dive into a big talk whenever Matt is around. Of course Malfoy can't help but make cocky remarks every once in a while, but other than that? As far as the rest of the world is concerned, we're still as much estranged as we were before. Unbelievable how something as big as 'Yes I still love you' can occur, and no one even knows about it.

Take Matt for example.

"What are you staring at?" He asks when we're in class, sitting in the back of the auditorium.

I transfer my eyes from the Malfoy's back to him and raise an eyebrow. "That sounds like a line from a rap song."

His lips curl into a lopsided grin that has quickly become his trademark. "I'm just saying you're clearly not paying attention."

"You _never_ pay attention in class," I shoot back smartly.

"I'm just saying..." he repeats.

Then, when I steal another glimpse towards Malfoy, I notice him stealing a glimpse towards _me_.

Those are the times when it's obvious our little night out _did_ happen.

"I'm wondering," Matt whispers, breaking me out of my reverie, "why Scorpius Malfoy keeps on looking at you like that."

Trying to be look flustered, I frown. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, princess," he snorts. "It's been like that all week. Think he's jealous?"

I put on my most clueless face. "Of what?"

He briefly touches my hand. "Of us, of course!"

See, but that's the thing. There's not too much to be jealous of. We're just two people who like each other – one more than the other – and happen to have stumbled into something that resembles a relationship. Is this thing we have even _worthy_ of being called a relationship? Isn't this more of a... flirt? Affair? Short-lived liaison?

You tell me, Matt. You tell me, Malfoy.

"Maybe," I whisper back neutrally.

"Well," he says, stroking his mouth over my ear, "he should."

He told me.

Not knowing what to say exactly, I smile and shift my head a little so his lips land on my cheek. Even though he's clingy as hell, I decide I do think this is quite comfortable.

Besides, Malfoy glanced again, and this time he _did_ look kind of pissed off.

A jealous Malfoy is always a plus, I'd say.

"Don't you feel like ditching class later?" Matt suggests.

That would be _so_ unlike me. "I'm afraid you'll have to lure me with chocolate."

"What about pancakes?"

I nearly squeal. "Yes!"

"You are such a child..."

"Whatever," I say dismissively, "you're the one paying."

He chuckles. "If that's the way you want it, princess..."

And thus, I end up ditching class.

For the first time in my life.

* * *

"If these aren't the best pancakes you've ever eaten..."

Chocolate and ice cream and pancakes.

I'm going to end up with five chins and the inability the see my own feet, but this almost makes it worth it. I don't know about you, but I'd probably marry anything that relates to chocolate. Then at least I'll be happily married, given that chocolate literally makes you happier.

"Shut up," I mumble with my mouth full, "I'm in the heaven of delight."

"You are such a girl," Matt grins, looking all handsome with his typical surfer boy features and attractive green eyes, sitting on the opposite of the table.

"Well, thank Merlin for _you_ I'm a girl!"

He laughs and gives me wink. "I'd turn gay for you otherwise."

I roll my eyes playfully while stuffing another bite of heaven. "You say that now. And, furthermore, you don't have the right to act all smug about these pancakes. You didn't even bake them yourself."

"I picked the tearoom!" He counters. "I deserve credit for that!"

"And to say _you're_ the foreigner."

"I did some research..."

Pondering about how easy our conversations go, I gaze at him with interest. "Research, huh? And what did you research besides tearooms and Muggle theatres?"

"Hmmm," he pretends to think deeply. "I researched medicine, and potions, and... there's also this girl. I think her name is Rose Weasley, I looked her up too."

"So what did you find?" I ask, going with it.

"Well, she's got red hair and blue eyes and all in all she's pretty hot. She's also got this annoying sarcastic tongue that makes you want to curl up and die sometimes, but she's very funny when you get used to it," he pauses, and then continues in a thoughtful voice, "I think I might like her, actually."

"Oh, really?" I say in fake surprise. "And you reckon she likes you too?"

He grazes his chin. "I'm not sure... Oh! You know her, right? Don't you want to put in a word for me?"

"Depends on how much pancakes you're going to buy me in the future..."

"I'll buy you more than you can imagine," he promises and steals my fork get a piece of my food.

"You got yourself a deal, mister," I extend my hand formally. "Are milkshakes included in the package?"

He shakes it with conviction. "Sure. So what are you going to tell her?"

Neither of us lets go of the other's hand.

"That you're _nice_..."

"Is that it?"

"No, of course not. Also that you're intelligent..."

"Go on..."

"Somewhat good-looking..."

He pinches my thumb.

"Alright, fine! _Very_ good-looking then."

He smiles broadly.

"And funny. Good to be around."

"Now you're pushing it."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

And then he leans over and kisses me.

Yes, I like him. Yes, something twitches in my stomach when he kisses me. And no, he never cheated on my while I was lying in the hospital and left me afterwards.

"I'm sure Rose Weasley will like you," I mumble against his lips. "If she doesn't already."

"Good," he breathes against mine, "because she makes me feel funny."

And, seriously, that's about the cutest thing someone's ever said to me.

So what else is there than to kiss him again?

* * *

It's already dark outside when I return from my unexpected tearoom date. Feeling slightly giddy at first, I am completely caught off guard as suddenly a tall, looming figure rises from the shadows of the corridor, standing in front of my door. I come to a shocked halt, but am quickly able to exhale again, after I've recognised the typical clothes and the typical demeanour and the typical cologne.

"Hi," I look at Malfoy with a question mark shining in my eyes, even though I'm sure the light is too dimmed for him to make out my expression. "What are you doing here?"

"What were _you_ doing ditching class?" He retorts sharply, so immediate he's probably been thinking that over for a while.

I shrug as I open the door and gesture for him to come in. "Eating pancakes, as a matter of fact."

"You ditched class because you wanted _pancakes_?" He asks with a refined blond eyebrow up high.

With a flick of my wand I can finally see him properly.

Doesn't look too happy, as we speak.

"Matt offered me and I couldn't say no, could I?"

He rolls his eyes, clearly irritated. "You couldn't? You lost the skill to pronounce N and O?"

"I'd ask if you want something to drink," I say bitingly, "but then again, you're being a total bastard for no reason."

"You ditched class!" Then, a second later: "And I wouldn't mind a couple of vodkas, if you happen to – "

"Sod off," I cut him off. "And what's the big deal about that?"

He rolls his eyes _again_. "It isn't _you_."

"Gee. Good thing I have an unwanted conscience lurking somewhere," I now copy his habit.

I really don't feel like it. I really, really don't feel like doing the whole 'one step forward, twenty steps back' scenario all over again. It's like he's an actor and I'm an actress who both suck at their jobs, and therefore have to do the same take a million times again. Like someone's going to jump from behind to curtain and yell out: "_Cut_! No, no, _no_, Scorpius! Rose! Do that _again_!"

In that case – I'm a burnout.

"I thought you didn't really like him," Malfoy shakes his head in annoyance.

I take a chair and sit down. He seems even taller now. "I never said that."

"I implied it and you never bothered to deny," he remarks shrewdly. "But, you know, I might be wrong. Maybe it's out of style to defend your boyfriend nowadays."

His sarcasm is like a nail scratching over a black board. "I don't feel the need to defend him when I'm with you, because I know you're never going to like him anyway. That doesn't mean _I_ don't like him."

"So how much?" He asks as if testing me. "Do you like him, I mean."

"I just... I don't know," I shrug. "I don't owe you an answer, do I?"

He's silent, stares at me from above.

"So, is there anything else or...?"

"Does he make you feel weak in your knees?"

"... _What_?"

Malfoy repeats his question, enunciating the words with exaggerated care.

"He will one day," I say, thinking about the kiss Matt and I shared in the tearoom.

"Is it his face you see when you go to sleep?"

No, you dickhead. It's yours. Concrete and outlined and distinctly _yours_.

"What is this?" I snap. "The Spanish Inquisition?"

He doesn't laugh, not even humourlessly. "Just tell me."

"No, it's not. I don't see _anyone's_ face," I lie ruthlessly, ignoring the flicker of something in his intense eyes.

"If you'd go to visit... say, Paris or Venice, would you want him to accompany you?"

_You_'d just abandon me in the airport, on the plane, in the hotel, on a fucking street in the middle of the damn city, wouldn't you?

"He makes me laugh," I spit angrily, "he'd make great company."

"But would you _want_ him to be one with you there? The _only_ one?"

"That's _none_ of your business, Malfoy!"

Then, the utter lack of patience in his personality shows its colours. He hits the wall with his fist – not too hard though – and presses his hand palms to his forehead afterwards.

"Don't call me fucking _Malfoy_, Rose!"

"Malfoy, Scorpius," I almost-scream, "It's not like it makes any bloody difference!"

"But it does – don't you see it _does_?" He suddenly seems desperate for me to understand. "Stop hating me! I had to watch you and your boy toy being all lovey dovey all week long and I didn't breathe more than a _sentence_. The least you can do is call me by my first name!"

"You watched us being all '_lovey_ _dovey'_ the week before that and you never complained about it," I respond disbelievingly, loudly.

He sighs, deeply and thoroughly, and he looks like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, never mind the perfect clothes and hair and cologne. "See? There's a difference, just like the name. There's a fucking difference and if you're too stupid to see it then I seriously doubt if you're as brilliant as humanity makes you out to be."

"Don't do this," I say, overcome with something akin to total fatigue, "don't play games and don't be cryptic. _Please_."

He feels it too. The fatigue. I can see it, engrained in his face.

"The week before you never asked if I loved you still, and the week before, I never said I did."

Oh.

_Oh_.

There we are. The pathetic version of ourselves standing in my dorm while Albus is probably off partying somewhere, and this is the point we've driven each other too. I'm tired of him, of me, of everything, and most of all, I'm tired of the way this affects me as much as did a year ago, if not more.

"How about you, Rose?" He inquires then, after all this time. "Do you?"

"_Yeah, tell us. Do you_?"

Wait a second.

That's not Scorpius or me. I'm getting a vague déjà-vu feeling, but this time we're in another context. Because, fantastic, there Matthew Evans from behind the door, holding the scarf I left in the tearoom in his hand.

* * *

Yes, I did it again. The situation was just too perfect.  
Let's get past the 800 review border, shall we? ( :

Até a próxima  
Josephinee


	20. Twenty

Olaa readers.

I got a lot of different replies to the clique thing. Apparently it depends on which high school you're in.

This chapter's kind of a filler, but a needed one. We've only got a few chapter to go & then everything is officially overrr.

**  
Disclaimer:** blah blah blah same as the former nineteen chapters.

* * *

**TWENTY**

A very, very pressing quietness befalls the three of us.

Even though it sure as hell isn't the time or the place to open up old wounds, I can't help myself. The situation is _so_ alike yet equally different to the one I've been in with Stephano. I remember it like it was yesterday – the scene where it dawned upon him, as an instinct that'd been awaked, there was something going on between his girlfriend and his best friend, in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop in Hogsmeade, where he threw a tantrum. Or that day when he and Scorpius literally came to blows over me. That happened a long time ago and everything did settle eventually, but the road to the peaceful terminus was a painful one.

This may as well be worse.

There are two boys standing here, staring at me with anticipating expressions – one more open than the other – waiting for a simple word that wouldn't even guarantee truth for either one of us. My mind has been so jumbled, so confused, that I can hardly tell them anything coherent.

Although, when you think about, it is a fairly simple question.

Do I still love Scorpius Malfoy?

It's not 'Do I still love Scorpius Malfoy and have a desire to date him again?' or 'Am I prepared to forgive him and if you are, why would you?'.

It's just... yes or no.

Apparently Malfoy is thinking the same thing, because he's the first to break the silence. He's looking extremely irritated at this point, glaring at me with characteristic impatience.

"Are you waiting for a fucking drum roll, or what?"

This seems to ignite the doubts I've been having all along.

"I don't love you anymore," I blurt out, then, unsubtly and swiftly.

I expect something big to happen. I expect the stars to stop shining. I expect our hearts to destruct and explode. I expect the world to come to a halt.

Instead Matt and Scorpius say simultaneously, "You're lying."

... _what_?

To say I'm dumbfounded would be an understatement, and my eyes switch from one to another, as if exploring what prompted them to say such thing. Scorpius looks as tired as before, with a streak of the bitterness I know a little too well, pissed off and enervated to be put in this context, uncomfortable at laying his emotions on the table. But _that_ makes sense. Matt, on the other hand, doesn't. Because he looks just as pissed off, annoyed, with his arms crossed defensively, and strangely enough, _sure of himself._

"I understand you saying it, Malfoy," I utter after a while, trying to sound neutral, "since you've always lived under the illusion that the everyone's life revolves around you. But Matt?" I turn to said boy in question. "What the hell?"

"I'm not saying you want him back," Matt replies, "I'm just saying that you still love him."

"Usually that's the same thing," Scorpius interjects coolly.

I roll my eyes and snap, "Oh really? Then what were you doing all summer?"

"Screwing the entire female population just because he can?" Matt suggests before Scorpius gets the chance to defend himself. The fucked up thing is that he's right too.

"And you would know because you were there, wouldn't you, pathetic lowlife?" Scorpius retorts in a tone that clearly tells Matt he is entirely inferior to his unbearably high standing.

"He's not illiterate, you know," I snap, "and neither is the rest of the Wizarding world, for that matter. Even the oh so respectable Daily Prophet published articles on your escapades!"

If he didn't look angry before, he certainly does now. "This has got nothing to do with this wanker. If you wanted to discuss that, Rose, couldn't you have saved it for another time?"

"He brought it up!" I point at Matt while I grant Scorpius with a death glare.

Matt shakes his head. "You guys are _so_ full of unresolved issues..."

"Thanks for clearing that up, mate," Scorpius sneers.

"I have no intention of solving them either," I say bitchily.

Scorpius throws me a look that couldn't have been icier if anyone tried. A involuntary shiver runs through my body, but I don't act upon it and keep my face straight. The fact that he doesn't answer makes it worse, somehow, as if he doesn't deem my comment worthy of replying to. With a demeanour that screams 'I'm too good for either one of you!' he saunters through the door that was still open from when Matt came in. I'm very tempted to call his name, but then think, _why should I_?

"Don't all great love stories end with the hero of heroin running after the other and then passionately making up?" Matt implies drily when Scorpius is gone and I barely react to that fact at all.

The memory of Scorpius running after me in the rain flashes before my eyes.

"_Weasley!"_

"_Sod off!"_

"_Would you just stop?"_

"_Leave me alone, Malfoy!" _

"_Bloody hell, Weasley! I'm in the fucking pouring rain, ruining this extremely expensive tuxedo, because I needed to talk to you! And all you do is act like an infantile nutcase!"_

Maybe Scorpius and I _were_ a great love story.

Once upon a time.

"So are you going to dump me now or what?" I decide to ignore his stupid remark. "I suppose this is your clue if you really think I was lying."

Matt looks somewhat surprised. "Do you want me to dump you?"

"No," I say quietly.

"Me neither," he smiles at me, but I'm not naive enough to think this means everything's going to be happy and shiny from now on. "We'll see what happens, okay?"

I make an effort to smile back and make it look sincere. "Okay."

"I actually just came to return your scarf... I'm really tired and was going to sleep after I'd given it to you," he says apologetically. "Is it alright if I go?"

"Yeah, of course," I nod quickly.

He cups my face and kisses my forehead. "Goodbye, princess."

He walks out in a manner very different compared to Scorpius just a couple minutes ago, but I get the same uneasy feeling in my abdomen. The odds tell me it's over completely between me and Scorpius, and that there may still be a chance to work on what Matt and I have.

Strangely enough, I can't shake the thought that this may be the beginning of the end.

* * *

What really, truly sucks about the misery coming with the ridiculous triangle drama, is the timing. School is something that doesn't wait for silly teenage problems like ours, especially not when the one you happen to be attending is one of the most, if not _the_ most, pretentious Wizarding universities in the world. And as it is currently December, there are _exams_ waiting for us. At this moment there are virtually no parties on the campus, and when you see a student, he's either studying or freaking out. One glance at the million pages I have to memorise for next week and I get where they're coming from. Of course I'm the type that actually works in advance, so I'm more or less prepared. Every free minute I occupy with the study of the human body, since the more I think about that, the less I think about Scorpius. And thus, Monday afternoon is no different.

"Man, I ran into the Malfoy bloke this morning," Albus interrupts my studying when he finds me sitting in the Lunch hall. I put my notes aside.

"Yes, and?" I blink, ignoring the stab in my gut.

Albus falls back in a chair and runs his hand through his hair. "He was busy insulting some other first year... Nearly hexed the lad! You should've seen him!"

"What did the other first year do?" I ask, unwillingly interested.

My favourite cousin shrugs. "Bumped into him or something like that... Malfoy just went mental for nothing. He's always a douchebag, but you'd think the other guy had killed his mum or something."

"Really?"

"I wonder what got his knickers in such a twist?"

I eye him suspiciously. "Are you saying this has got anything to do with me?"

Albus gives me the Innocent Grin. "No? I'm just _inquiring_ if _maybe_ you _might_ know something more."

"Well, you _could_ say it's my fault," I mention casually, inspecting my nails.

"_Ooooh_, tell the story to your best friend, Rosie," he says, wearing his boyish Come To Daddy expression now, in an attempt to come off like a listening ear.

I cock an eyebrow. "When did you become such a gossip queen, Potter?"

"Just interested in your life, is all," back to the Innocent Grin.

Albus Potter is as transparent as water probably was a few thousand centuries back.

"Well, sorry to say, but," I shake my head and hold up my hand to reject him, "you didn't want to listen to me when I wanted to talk to you about it in the morning... And I told you not to come complaining if I didn't tell you my secrets!"

"But – but, that was – " Albus sputters.

I laugh sardonically. "Face the music, best friend."

And then I collect all my stuff, stick out my tongue as I go, and leave the Quidditch talent of the family under the impression that I'm actually walking out on him, while, of course, I just have to get to my last class of the semester.

* * *

The week that follows is the most horrid of the academic year yet. First of all, there is the non-stop absorbing of new information. When I had to study for my N.E.W.T.'s in Hogwarts, it wasn't necessarily _easy_, but I could do it without much hassle. Of course, getting into L.W.U. requires a lot of intelligence, which does mean the level is way higher than it was back in Hogwarts. I guess that even I am not used to this kind of material. Double that with my problems with the boys, and there you are.

It doesn't come as a big surprise that Malfoy avoids me like the plague, but apparently, the other boy doesn't feel like seeing me too much either. I mean – he hangs out with me, alright. He still holds my hand and he still sits next to me and he still strikes up conversation once in a while. The point is that all those things seem to happen half-heartedly.

His usual spirit is way off key.

Yes, he still holds my hand. _Technically_, our hands are connected. Yet it's like Matt has lost his former firm grip, the grip that was meant as if to say, back off, the girl's mine. He still sits next to me during at breakfast or when we're studying in the library, but whereas he used to make sure the space between us was as little as possible, it seems to expand just a bit further every day now. The way he talks to me is superficial and hollow, and half the time he purposefully doesn't look at me while speaking. He rarely grins at me anymore, and unexpectedly enough, I find myself bothered by this stupid fact. He's so distant it actually makes me miss his initial clingy self.

This is when the Big Question raises itself.

What _exactly_ do I miss? Do I miss my Friend Matt, or do I miss my Boyfriend Matt?

When by Friday night I'm seriously fed up with his new attitude and my own pondering over it, I decide to undertake some action and march towards his dorm. Like Scorpius, he doesn't have a roommate, so we won't have to worry about that either. I have to knock three times before Matt finally opens the door.

"Hi," he says as he sees me, "Didn't expect you?"

Yes, honey. I know I'm not like you and I know I usually don't hang onto you every nanosecond of the day, but I actually foresee our total demise.

This is what I want to say.

Instead I come up with this: "Just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Come on in then," he offers without enthusiasm.

I come in with reluctance. He pulls out a chair for me, on which I sit down. His table is littered with books and parchments, as is his floor. This is obviously the dorm of a student facing L.W.U. exams.

"Afraid you're going to fail?" I ask in an effort to get us talking.

He throws a look at the books. "Yeah. Never failed any exam in my life, and now it's just..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I sigh. When he doesn't reply, I remember my quest. "Is that the reason why you've been so distant this week?"

I'm almost a hundred percent certain that he's going to say yes and be honest about it too. It's a very sensible reason to be distant after all, and after hearing the things he said to me before, you'd think the boy really likes me, wouldn't you? Or is that just me?

"No," he says, frowning a little and staring at his feet now. This time he doesn't look sure of himself at all. "I mean, not really."

"But then why?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"It's because you've looked horrible all week," he's still evading eye-contact.

My mouth falls open. "You're distant because you think I'm _ugly_ now?"

Realising his mistake, he recovers, "No, no, that wasn't what I meant! It's just that you had that big fall-out with Malfoy last week and you both look like shit. That doesn't look very over to me."

I swallow visibly.

I feel like a child that's been caught stealing candy.

"It's just _stress_, Matt," I try to convince him, "It's got nothing to do with Malfoy!"

"You're lying for the second time, Rose," he pins me down with his knowing gaze and it's like I'm trapped.

I'm trapped inside a body with a heart that betrays my mind's desires. I'm trapped inside a room where my boyfriend is accusing me of not being honest, and I'm trapped in the idea that he's probably right without me even comprehending that. No, I haven't been sleeping well. Was it really all the different bones in a man's finger that kept me awake? Was it really the insanely complex potion we had to practise? Or was it some blond aristocratic idiot's face? Was it the rejection I bestowed on both him and the possibility of a relationship?

"Am I?" I eventually mumble. "Tell me. Everyone else seems to know better than I do myself."

Matt smiles a dead smile. "I believe so. What I think you're doing is, you consider trust equal to love, but it's not. You don't have to trust him in order to think about or want him."

And, granted, he hits the nail right on the head.

"But isn't trust the most important thing in a relationship?"

"Depends on your priorities, I guess," he answers with the same bothersome smile. "But it doesn't matter. There was just this moment, after the fight, when I was with you, and the thought of you thinking of him started filling my mind. And I can't have that, you know?"

I suppress the guilt that bubbles up after he's said that. I _have_ been thinking about Scorpius while I was with him. Not necessarily in a longing way, just – thinking. Analysing. Replaying the words he said.

"But you don't know that," I try, sounding quite reasonable to my own ears.

"I just don't want you hurting me," he admits. "I've always been honest with you. Please be honest with me for a moment, okay?"

And then, something clicks.

"I lied."

That's it.

Those are the most honest two words I've spoken in a very long time.

Most of all to myself.

"You were right," I quickly add, "I'm sorry. I just thought we had a good chance and maybe I didn't want to ruin it with my lingering love for him."

I feel awful. I feel stupid and dumb and you name it. I'm disappointed in Matt, in Scorpius, and again, most of all myself. I've always been immediate to project my anger on Scorpius, but now? I'm so incredibly, inexplicably furious at myself. For, really, just not _knowing better._

"I don't want to be a rebound, Rose," he says firmly. "It's not love you seek with me, it's comfort. Comfort and maybe hope that you're not fully stuck on him. I'm surprised that I failed to see that before."

At the sight of him – sad and vulnerable but persuaded by his own opinion at the same time – I give up. "I didn't use you. I really, really thought I _would_ fall in love you eventually."

"I have every reason not to believe you, but I know you like me, so I guess there's _some_ truth in there," he states, sounding dejected. "If it weren't for him..."

"I'd probably be more emotionally available," I finish. "I'm sorry."

"You can't help who you love, princess," he says then, and the fact that he uses his usual nickname for me makes me sure that one day we'll become friends like Stephano and I did.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean there's no regret when I get up to leave.

It occurs to me that I was wrong earlier.

This isn't the beginning of the end. It's the end of the beginning.

* * *

I know that was a lot of Matt, but please still bother to review!

Slán go fóill!  
-Josephinee


	21. Twentyone

Bonjourrr mes amis.

1) To anyone who's seen 'HP & the half-blood prince' or is about to see it: THOUGHTS??

2) This insanely quick update is no reference for the next one. I wrote half of it a while ago when I was feeling uncharacteristically sentimental.

3) We are nearing the end. Be unhappy, people, and make me feel as if I am relevant in this world. Muhaha.

**Disclaimer**: ... I mean, come on.

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* * *

**

**TWENTY-ONE**

I know I said last week was horrid, but this one just takes the cake.

I wake up, eat, study, make an exam, study for another one, eat, and go to sleep. That's basically the only pattern I follow for five days. Albus isn't much of a comfort zone either, because the boy has a huge Quidditch game coming up very soon, and whenever that's the case he turns into a grumpy old man. It's not to say I've got nobody else – I've been here for three months, I've met a lot of people and I know my way around. The problem, however, is seeing as at first I fixated all my time on Eloise, and after that got Matt as a worthy surrogate, I didn't bother to build up extra friendships. So here I am. Life is terrible and I can't even complain about it to anyone other than myself.

Marvellous indeed.

Good thing is I probably passed everything. Of course I'll have to wait for the results until they sent letters to our houses during the Christmas break of three weeks, but I have a very satisfied feeling about it. Funny, really, 'cause the only other person I've seen wearing a content face after finishing is Malfoy. No surprise there. He's an excellent student - extremely clever and bright. Too bad smarts like that don't necessarily make you a wise person. Sometimes it feels as if he doesn't grow as a person at all.

Not that I'd ever expected him to.

I mean, his main talent is _smirking_. That doesn't really promise anything, now does it?

It's Friday evening now, and I haven't spoken to him for two weeks, after that terrifying conversation with him and Matt. It feels strange to just not talk to him, insult him, scream at him, kiss him, hug him, or be with him. I initially thought it'd be only a matter of time before either one of us would hunt the other down, but then I guess we're both a little bit too fractured about everything that it may simply... not happen. As screwed up as it is – life isn't as great as you think it is.

It's full of heartbreak, as my inner teenage girl would love to tell you.

When someone breaks me out of my reverie by knocking on the door, I therefore can't say if I think it's him or not. It could just as well be Albus, returning from practise, or maybe some random boy who's suddenly decided to stalk me.

Then again, both options are highly unlikely, so when I open the door and find Malfoy standing there, I don't topple over.

"I'm going to Paris." His voice seems to come out of nowhere, just like his appearance. "I want you to come with me."

_Now_ I do.

"You want me to accompany you to Paris?" I repeat with a cocked eyebrow.

Registering how bad he looks, with bags under his eyes and a remarkably paler complexion, it occurs to me that it's incredibly pathetic that my heart still does a summersault.

"I have an aunt living there," he starts explaining, "and I could pay everything for you. It's impossible to Apparate, but we can take a train."

Phew, thank Merlin you're mentioning it! Imagine the _emotional_ side of things being the issue here!

"It's not funny." I murmur, gaping at him with eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"It's not meant to be. I've thought about it for a week now and I genuinely think it's a good idea," he continues, in a rather rattling fashion, "I mean, don't you want to see the Eiffel tower? Or Montmartre? It's nothing short of amazing – I can assure you."

"Scorpius, it may have escaped your notice, but we're not a couple anymore."

It's meant to hurt him, I realise as the words come out of my mouth. Only it's not meant to hurt _me_.

"It didn't," he says tightly.

Silence.

Then he adds, "I think I'm sorry about that."

"Are you using Paris as a metaphor?" I ask, a frown marring my features.

He shakes his head. "Not in the way you think I am. I mean, I really want to go. With you. Because, next to being insufferable, you're also very keen on aesthetic beauty, and you're the one I want to share that with."

_You can't help who you love. _

But you _can_ help who you forgive.

"My appreciation of aesthetic beauty isn't going to fix things, Scorpius," I state in a low tone, wishing for him to go and not tempting me by feeding my head pretty words. "If it did we'd never had problems in the first place."

Because, honestly. Scorpius Malfoy is closest one can get to aesthetic perfection.

Strangely enough, he doesn't comment on my hidden compliment. Instead he just mutters, "Think about it, would you?"

"The answer is no thank you and will remain so," I snap, and promptly slam the door in his face.

I don't know why I'm being an utter bitch to him. I suppose it's because seeing his face makes things all the more real, and sometimes, pretending that I don't love him is just easier than the alternative. It's hard to ignore the ache in my chest, the tightening in my throat, and most of all, the voice in the back of my head, but what can I do? Whirling in self-pity is something I do enough as it is, thank you very much.

Inhaling deeply, I let myself glide down with my back resting against the door.

"There are other things needed to be said as well, Rose."

I nearly jump up in shock. His voice sounds uncannily loud, as if he's standing right next to me instead of on the other side of the wall. I quickly scan the room, but come to the conclusion that he is nowhere in sight. Then it dawns on me that he is in fact standing on the other side of the wall, but has craftily charmed the door so the sound barrier would be broken.

"What could possibly be relevant in our relationship that's not yet been said?"

I even hear him sighing, crystal clear. "I just have to get it off my chest. You know how it feels!" The volume rises slightly. "You're a girl. Imagine you've just heard this great piece of gossip that'll interest everyone. It's like that."

I chuckle drily. "You sure do know us girls quite well, don't you?"

Ah; the innocent innuendo!

"Remember that fight we had making the potion, when I asked you if you wanted to know why Summer was a mistake?"

He doesn't pay heed to my refusal to be serious at all. Like he instinctively feels I'm only putting up a front.

"Yeah," I say as neutrally as possible.

Of course I remember that damned conversation. It was _hell_. It was our first real confrontation about the facts and it bloody _awful_. The only way this could've gone over _somewhat_ bearable, was with him on his knees, begging and begging and crying like a little girl, devaluating his entire worth, finally allowing me to become his superior after his low blow from before.

"You didn't want to listen," Malfoy remarks, and I muse over where he's going with this.

I scowl, but then again, he can't even see me. "You said it didn't matter."

"I said it wouldn't change the facts," he counters snidely.

"There's no difference."

"Sure there is." In my imagination he's staring at the wall in front of him, just like I am, so that our backs would connect if the door fell away. "And I want to tell you either way. Don't you want to hear it, Rose? Honestly, what I was thinking, all those days in the summer, away from you?"

No.

Maybe.

... Fuck it.

"At least make it sound like a _juicy_ piece of gossip, then."

"You told me I had changed you, remember? By defying your logic?" He waits for me to confirm but then realises he's pointing out the obvious. "_You_ changed _me_ more. Because before I fell in love with you," my heart stops momentarily at that, "I either lived my life through dreams or didn't dream nor live at all. Like I was thrown from one pole to the other."

"Do you get a kick out of being cryptic?" I ask, but the effort to come off annoyed and uninterested dissolves in my suddenly whole lot more vulnerable tone.

"As I was _saying_," he emphasises, "sometimes I'd be high on things that weren't even real in the first place – random shags, alcohol, parties, ambitions, hopes to fulfil... I walked around with my head elsewhere, like I wasn't where I _was_, you know? And then... I would come down, realise what I was doing, and become _completely_ apathetic. No dreams, no ecstasy. No nothing. Because I don't like the world, and I don't like the ninety-nine percent of the people living in it."

"If I didn't know you have the emotional range of a teaspoon," I comment, trying to ease the friction, enthralled and frightening at the same time, "I'd say you were bipolar."

"But _that's_ not it, Rose. I'm never depressed nor extremely happy. It's just two different types of not caring – one six metres above and the other six metres under the ground."

His spot-on description reminds me briefly why my hate for him is hopeless. I can't even see him and I'm still enraptured by smooth glory of his words, his essence, his being. How is it that I'm still so in love with him, after all that he's managed to destruct?

"I don't think I ever fully knew that," I admit, biting my lip in a sudden nervousness.

"But that's my point," he says quickly, "that's my point. It was different with you, you see? Both feet on the ground. Balanced. Awake. And it's such a cliché, but you might've fixed me without trying, because after what happened with Summer, I was so lost, Rose. Shit, I was _so_ lost."

I feel like I'm suffocating. "When did _you_ become so sentimental?"

There's a pause, and I'm afraid the walls will start vibrating right on the drum of my heartbeat.

"Since I spent my entire summer in a drunken stupor trying to get peace with myself. Since I, despite my looks and money and talent and intelligence, felt like the poorest fucking wizard on the planet. And since I am now officially begging you to please, please reconsider our chances," he then says, all at once, as if scared to miss a syllable.

My resistance is crumbling and shrinking to the size of a snitch.

"I – "

"I love you. Just believe me, okay?"

_I love you too. _

The words are on the tip of my tongue, and maybe it's even easier to not say it to his face. But instead I hug my knees, burry my head in my arms, and mumble, "Why did you do it?"

"You mean with Summer?"

"_That_, and not even bothering to explain afterwards."

"I wish I could explain the first one, honestly," he replies, and I assume he's shrugging, "I've tried to replay that night in my mind... But it's all just a blurry mess. And maybe, if you really want a reason I'm not even sure of, I think I was afraid because of how much I missed you, and... I don't know, Rose. That's why I didn't want to see you. I thought you'd want a reason, and I couldn't give it to you. That, and I didn't want to see just how _much_ I'd fucked up."

My eyes are watering, but I command myself not to cry. "You fucked up worse by not showing up! How could you _not_ know that?"

"I thought if I ignored it, it would go away," he says, and in all his simplicity, he has never sounded as much like a little boy as he does now. "Will you open the door, just for a second?"

Don't cry.

_Don't_ cry.

I raise myself from my spot and count to ten.

Opening the door with reluctance (why make it worse?), I find him standing up as well, looking down on me with platinum strands of hair falling in front of his steely eyes. He says nothing more, ushers me closer with one arm and I let my head rest against his chest.

"I can't get past it," I whisper, "It's a trust thing, Scorpius. A relationship is based on trust."

"Yeah..." He trails off, then repeats, "Yeah."

I remember this one time Albus asked me why in Merlin's name I insisted on reading books that 'made you want to slit your wrists', like Sylvia Plath. I'd looked up from _The Bell Jar_ and told him that there is a certain beauty to melancholy, an unspecified soothing in someone else's misery, for the simple fact that you know you're not the only sad person in the world. Because worse than being sad, is being sad while the rest of the world is out celebrating. Or even when you're not feeling blue in the slightest, you can't help but notice how sadness improves one's art, how words seem to have a nicer flow to them, how sorrow makes the world seem deeper and more profound. Albus had shaken his head and walked away, muttering something with 'Rose' and 'mental' in the same sentence.

That's funny, 'cause if he were in my place now, I think he'd understand.

The beauty I found in other's pain, I now find in mine. Here, enclosed in Scorpius' arms, with his smell engulfing my senses, I find entire, complete beauty in the way we are holding on, shielding each other from the harsh reality we're about to face. Even though I know I'll never wake up next to him again, and even though he realises he'll be sorry for what he did to me and what consequences this had for a very long time, I don't think we've ever embraced one another more tightly.

This is desperation. This is clinging onto something that we lost a long time ago in the first place.

This is the goodbye we never really had.

And when that thought comes to mind, something snaps and somehow my rationality leaves me and before I know it I really _do_ start weeping. He simply presses me closer, causing his grey shirt to moisten due to my sobbing. I'm sure he's aware of this, but he doesn't seem to mind. Remarkable how some things just fully fade when other, larger obstacles get in the way, like when a relative dies, you couldn't care less about the expensive necklace you lost the other day, or when you can't graduate, it doesn't matter if you got an O on that one Potions test.

Or, for example, when you're losing your chance to get back together with your first love for real, you don't give a bloody damn about tearstains on your shirt.

"Rose," the blond boy says quietly. "You sure?"

Looking up, I wipe my eye, "Yes."

And then he cups my face with both his hands, looks at me with an expression that's distinctly unlike him, and kisses my forehead very much like Matt did before. "If you ever..." he trails off again. For a moment it seems as if he's about to cry with me, but it passes as soon as it came.

I don't want him to cry either.

I want him to be _him_.

I want him to be, but I can't forgive him for being it.

"If you ever," he picks up the thread again, builds in another intermezzo, "change your mind... The train for Paris leaves on Monday, one in the afternoon sharp. If you never show up, not then or ever, I'm not stupid enough to tell you I'll be waiting forever, but I'm sure that..." He sighs, shakes his head, "If we'd meet up, you'd insult me and I'd insult you, and maybe we would get drunk and at some point, we might get back what we once had, because – "

"Because it's what we do," I smile sadly, cutting him off.

"I never blamed you for not trusting me and I never will," he goes on, "because after... what happened... I don't trust myself anymore. I did for a while before, you know..."

"Yeah, I know."

And for the last time, he sort of sways me softly and then his arms slowly pull away from my body and it's like the air freezes. It occurs to me that this is not the right way to let go – it should've been passionate sex or a huge fight where we'd end up hexing the other – but then I comprehend the fact that why loved him so much in the first place was because of what was underneath the obvious.

He takes a step back, entwining my fingers with his only to let me go afterwards. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," I hiccup.

I watch him turn his back, feeling like he's leaving me while I'm the one who's making the decision. There's something akin to doubt and regret taking over my guts, but I don't find the will to act on it - I just stand there, paralysed, and then he's officially out my sight and out of the blood-pumping device in the middle slash left side of my chest.

This is the ending of a movie that you don't really want to see happening.

* * *

The day after that Scorpius has gone home. The air is a clear blue, cloudless and icy, and when I step outside with my trunk trailing behind me, it seems that winter has hit us full force. A shiver runs through me as the wind swirls, ruffling my hair and scarf and skirt, making me wonder when autumn paved the way for a different season. Then I vaguely think I couldn't care less, and walk on.

Some time at home with my parents, Hugo, and most importantly, Louis will do me some good.

"Rose! Wait up!"

Even though the accent tells me enough as it is, I turn around.

"_What_?" I snap, as the backstabbing bitch formerly known as Eloise jogs up to me. "Came to act like a judgmental twat some more?"

She would look pretty – bewildered suits her, after all – but her nose is running and she seems upset. She pays no attention to the insult I just casually threw her way, merely tries to keep up with my pace. In an out-of-breath voice, she asks, "Have you been crying?"

"Yes. Please be my shoulder to cry upon," I say mockingly while rolling my eyes and going faster in an attempt to get rid of this aggravating hypocrite.

"Rose," she stops me by harshly grabbing my wrist. "I need to tell you something."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it," I say cruelly, gazing at her hand in utter disgust.

Unfortunately, her grip only tightens. "It's about Scorpius."

I swallow. An unwilling image flashes behind my eyelids.

"One fifth of a nanosecond. That's all you get."

And then, I wait.

* * *

You know the drill, feedback is **loved**.

Viszontlátásra  
Josephinee


	22. Twentytwo

Final chapter.

So here's the deal. There've been a whole lot more complaints about Paramnesia than Chronicles in the reviews for the past twenty-one chapters. Apparently the problem is that everyone has his own vision of how a person should react to being completely screwed over (and again; _how_ screwed over exactly seems to be subjective too), probably because of what the reader relates to more. Some find Rose unjustly bitter, some think she'd disrespect herself if she ever forgave Scorpius. Well, okay then, but all these contradictions make it kind of hard for me to please everyone. I tried writing to please readers 21 chapters long, I really did, but I had this plot in my mind from the beginning and I'm not going to alter it because some might find it cliché. If you don't like it – great. Don't review. Don't leave negative comments because things don't go your way. It's unnecessary, infantile, and above all, discouraging.

That said; thanks for all the other nice feedback. Not only for the last chapter, but for all of them. Reviews mean a lot to me, as I might have mentioned before.

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns. Otherwise I'd be significantly richer than I am.

* * *

**TWENTY-TWO  
**

"He never slept with Summer, Rose."

I stop dead in my tracks.

"_What_?"

"Summer lied," Eloise says hastily, releasing her grip now that I'm not running away anymore, "Violetta bribed her. She told me yesterday when she was really drunk."

I stare at her, eyes wide in disbelief and a frightening mix of feelings surging through my veins. "You're fucking kidding me."

"Honest to Merlin I'm not, Rose," she says gravely, and looks back at me with a worried expression. "Are you okay?"

Am I _okay_?

Oh yeah sure, Eloise. You're telling me my life as I've known it for the past five months has been a total lie, but who gives a shit?

A stormy, turbulent rage reddens my sight and a yet unknown fury replaces my earlier melancholy. With a clenched jaw and narrowed eyelids and an overmastering frustration, I grab Eloise's arm just like she grabbed my wrist a second ago, and hiss in a fiery tone, "Where is that _whore_?"

Eloise seems taken aback and glances at my hand. "Packing her things in her dorm, I think."

"Lead the way," I say in a voice that leaves no space open for discussion.

"Okay," she replies quickly. "You're not going to– ?"

I interrupt her aggressively. "What? Avada her? I _would_ if she was worth going to Azkaban for."

I would murder her.

With my bare hands.

"Okay," she repeats insecurely. "Okay."

And then she leads me the way.

I _never_ knew what hate was until this very moment.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Violetta is completely frozen in shock as I blast her door and immediately take her wand from her. She was indeed packing, as I perceive from the huge trunk lying in the middle of the room. Flabbergasted, she turns from me to Eloise, and it visibly dawns upon her why we're here. A sudden uncomfortable look graces her features, and she's clearly as caught off as I am with the entire situation.

_Serves her right._

"If you don't tell me the truth," I say coldly, pointing my wand at her forehead, "I'll hex you into oblivion. And trust me, I don't care whether I'm cleaning halls for three months or five years. Got it?"

She has the nerve to frown and mutters, "What are you talking about?"

"Just tell her about Summer, Violetta," Eloise interferes, uncharacteristically impatient.

"Yeah, and it _better_ be detailed," I sneer, my mouth itching to utter a spell that would ruin her forever.

"Whoa, calm down," Violetta says, eyeing my wand in barely concealed fear, "I get it, alright?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't," I snap hatefully, "given your _hardly_ functioning brain."

"Look, I understand that you're angry at me for lying about Summer and Scorpius, but do you have any idea what you did to _me_?" She shrieks, as a reaction to my insult. "_Do you_?"

Virulently blinded by wrath I yell out, "I didn't ask you what _I_ did, you fucking twat! I asked you to tell what _really_ happened!"

"They kissed, okay!" She yells back loudly. "They kissed and then they went upstairs and then he said he didn't want to shag her because he missed _you_, and then the pathetic sod passed out! _That's_ what happened!"

I want to take a second to register the words of her outburst, but there are simply too many questions swirling in my head to ignore.

"Then how come _he_ thinks he slept with her as well?"

"Because he asked her and she said yes because of her pride!" Violetta bellows, throwing her hands in the air in annoyance.

Then Eloise objects, "No, you _bribed_ her!"

I'd almost forgotten she was there – I'm _that_ focused on Violetta.

"Only afterwards because she started to feel guilty!" she replies defensively.

I gaze at her in utter disgust, and with one simple word I try to cover everything that I'm feeling, "Why?"

"Well, I told you!" She shouts, mirroring my enmity. "You're always acting so holier than thou while you're _far_ from innocent in all this!" She shakes her head and seems to have forgotten about my wand altogether. "He was with _me_, remember? I loved him _so_ much, I thought we were going to spend our lives together, and when suddenly you come along, _poof_ – everything he didn't do for me he did for you!"

"I can't help it that he loves _me_!" I exclaim indignantly.

"You could've waited until we split up before you got your dirty hands on him!" Violetta retaliates. "You're pissed off because he cheated on you, but did it ever occur to you that he cheated on _me_ too, with _you_ nevertheless?"

Well –

I find myself momentarily speechless and realise that those things indeed didn't occur to me. The memory of all the crying I did races through my mind, and then it comes to me that maybe _she_ cried herself to sleep as well, and maybe she didn't want to come out of her bed either, and maybe she thought she'd never love anyone as much as she loved Scorpius too.

"Remember that day at breakfast?" She goes on in that hysterical voice of hers. "I said you took everything from me, and you _completely_ disregarded it! I told you that wasn't the last of it, and you and your stupid smug face wouldn't listen. That's why, Weasley, _that's_ why!"

All traces of sympathy are immediately swept off the table.

"So _what_?" I cry out in total aversion. "You ruined our relationship out of _spite_?"

"Well, _yeah_!" She responds pointedly, shrugging as if it makes all the sense in the world. "Do you know how that feels, Rose? Knowing that the person you love to death will never love you back? I always tried to make him happy! You didn't have to do _anything_ and he loved you for _free_!"

_He loved you for free._

He loved _me_ for free.

He didn't sleep with Summer. He passed out while saying my name. He wanted me and nobody else. He loved me for nothing and I spent two months wanting to stab his eyes out with one of Lily's killer heels, confiding in a lie and in Witch Weekly, sobbing in my pillow whenever I got the chance.

_But he still left you, didn't he?_

"What do you want me to say, Violetta?" I finally lower my wand and look at her in question. "That I'm sorry he loves me?"

"I don't want you to say anything. You asked me why and I told you."

"You're irreconcilable, Violetta, you know that?"

She looks back at me bitterly. "I'm not irreconcilable. Bitches are _made_, Rose, you of all people should realise that."

"_I_ never bribed someone into ruining someone else's love life," I remark bitingly.

"No, _you_ settle for leading people on and dump them for Scorpius."

That one hits close to home. "At least I don't purposely try to _hurt_ people."

"Whatever," she says arrogantly, as if deeming my argument unworthy, "as long as _you_ feel good about yourself."

"Rose?" Eloise cuts in suddenly.

"Yeah?" I say distractedly while glaring at Violetta.

"Let's go, okay?" Eloise suggests, ignoring the Asian shrew. "This fight is useless anyway."

"So you've jumped ships now?" Violetta mutters angrily.

"I don't need to know people as vindictive as you," Eloise replies in her typical French accent, reminding me why I liked her in the first place.

"I was right from the beginning," Violetta scowls. "You two deserve each other."

I realise that Eloise has a point. This fight is useless and we're never going to resolve it. There was a time when I could handle Violetta – before the messy love triangle – but that's disappeared for good now. Too much has happened that is unavoidable, even if we did try to evade it.

"Sod off," I therefore say, and gesture to Eloise that I'm set to go.

"I hope he does cheat on you sometime though," Violetta whispers behind us as we walk through the door, "he's too good for you."

"Yeah well," I say, without turning around, "in that case I'll just bribe someone into telling _you_ he didn't."

And then we're off.

Eloise Moreau and Rose Weasley in a newfound yet familiar amalgamation.

* * *

"So you and Scorpius will get together again, I assume?"

Eloise asks this when we're outside again, sitting on a bench on the campus with all of my stuff lying in front of us. The fire has been put out and my mind is making peace with everything Violetta has said, fitting the puzzle as it was supposed to be.

"You know," I begin, awakened from my intense thoughts, "he asked me to accompany him to Paris and I said no, thinking I could never trust him again. Do you think I should go?"

She blinks. "Why not?"

"Because I also hated him for not coming to see me after what supposedly happened."

"It's fairly simple, actually," she says, "you just have to ask yourself one question. Are you happy about the revelation? Are you happy that he never slept with Summer?"

Million dollar question.

"I feel... as if the storm inside of me has been calmed, finally," I reply finally, trying to find the right words to describe exactly what's going on, "I feel lighter and enlightened at the same time. Like a huge weight of bitterness, and sadness, and misery... has been _lifted_. Like magic."

I couldn't have said it better.

It's like magic - inexplicable and illogical and utterly marvellous.

"You need him," Eloise states.

"I love him," I correct.

"So go to Paris with him!"

I smile absent-mindedly, picturing the two us standing in front of the Eiffel tower, gawking at the wonder of what Muggles are capable of without using wands. "I guess I will."

And with that answer a temporary, comfortable silence settles between the two of us.

"My mum was a liar."

Eloise breaks it, changing the subject.

"Sorry?"

She looks at me with those blue eyes that are so distinctly hers. "She constantly lied to me. Maybe she didn't mean it in a bad way, but still... She used to say etiquettes were the only way to go through life happily, that you wouldn't be respected if you didn't know what fork to use," she snorts at this, "or other times she'd tell me no one would ever like me if I continued to be as sloppy and chaotic as I am... And then there was this time when I asked her if she had an affair with one of her colleagues, which she denied, even though I knew for a fact it was true."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say, while several pieces are falling into place.

"That's why I became friends with Violetta," she explains further. "I _despise_ liars. I'm always looking for truth, you know? And I felt you didn't live up to that. If I'd known what kind of person Violetta really is..."

"It's okay," I respond softly. "She was right. I'm not innocent either."

"No, you're not," Eloise admits, "but at least you didn't lie just for the sake of it. I guess I never waited to hear the whole story."

I look into the space, watch the trees moving synchronically, and say, "Maybe I didn't _know_ the whole story."

"No one ever knows the whole story," Eloise relents. "Unless you're a Legimens you can't read minds."

I nod. "Fact."

"Anyway," she murmurs, "I have to go. I just wanted to sort it out first, you know? All these miscommunications..."

"Yeah, I know," I kind of smile.

She stands up from her seat and walks away from me, backwards and slowly. "I _am_ sorry, though."

"Yeah," I say again, and wave vaguely just before she turns around. Then, as she calls her last goodbye, I blurt out after her, "I missed you."

From a distance she waves back. "I missed you too!" After which she waves again.

When I can't see her silhouette anymore, I finally allow my thinking to take over. My fury for Violetta has subsided, which enables me to think the subject over in a much clearer manner. It's a lot to progress, after all. I did live a lie, but what's truth in the first place? I mean, it's like Eloise said. We _never_ know the whole story.

We never _owned_ the truth.

Neither of us did. In fact – no one ever does. Not Albus Dumbledore, not Jesus, not you or me or Violetta or Eloise or Matt or Scorpius or Summer. Truth is unattainable, because you never quite grasp it in its whole. I thought it was okay for me and Scorpius to run off together and leave Violetta completely behind, because we would make a better match. Violetta thought it wasn't because she was _alone_ and in her eyes, her love for Scorpius it itself was reason enough to push me off the bandwagon. Eloise thought I lied to her just like her mum had, which made her turn to Violetta for hopefully better support. Summer thought that money and pride outweighed an honest recollection of events, and stopped feeling guilty because she didn't have to face any consequences. Matt thought I should forgive Scorpius because said boy prevented us from being happy, and because he never really knew how fucked up I felt during the summer. Scorpius thought insulting Violetta, Eloise, Matt and Summer was forgivable because of his love for me.

That's a whole lot of so-called truths.

And alright. You could say, string them together and voila, there you have it. Your oh-so miraculously unreachable truth. But what do you do afterwards? You land yourself into a new situation, in a different context, with maybe other or even the same people, and you can start from zero all over again.

Maybe I was just wrong, you know? Maybe I was wrong to assume I'm always in the right. I never demanded an explanation from Eloise when she went mental on me. Because that's what I thought – that she'd gone _mental_. She actually had a very sane reason. And maybe, or probably, I shouldn't have completely doubted Scorpius. Maybe I _should've_ put him on a pedestal. And he should've too.

I mean, what I'm trying to say here is that, everything always comes down to what _you yourself _believe.

The fact that I not only know this but _understand_ it too, makes me think that I have grown from the person I was in Hogwarts. And isn't that what it's all about? Learning new things, expanding your horizons, getting _wiser_ while you get older?

Perhaps _that's_ the essence of truth. And one step closer to owning it.

Because, all you can ever really know, is yourself.

* * *

I spent my entire Sunday thinking.

Thinking, desiring, and talking to Louis.

He was ecstatic to see me, I was ecstatic to see him. Albus joined the party and there we were, the three of us, as it used to be, sitting in my room, staring at the ceiling, playfully pinching one another and engaging ourselves into fun banter. As I told Eloise – I felt _lighter_. Like my old self again. Joking around, smiling every now and then, genuinely laughing, just... _being_. Not like shell or a lesser version of what I used to be anymore. I'm me again. Happy and content and as always, thinking about the one person that just might've become available yet again.

It was Louis who convinced me to actually go to the train station.

He woke me up this morning, sitting next to my bed Indian-style, smiling at me in a way that made me want to hug him, and said: "I packed your things for Paris."

To which I mumbled in a sleepy voice, "You did not."

"You and Scorpius are the epitome of undeniable," he said persuasively, "don't hurt yourself by not going."

"The fact that he didn't cheat on me," I replied with my face pushed into the pillow, "doesn't change the lack of explanation afterwards."

"So you're just… _leaving_ it at that?" He asked in a baffled tone.

"Maybe," I sighed.

"But, Rose, look at it from this perspective: the root of your issue was his cheating. The fact that he left you in the hospital made the root grow into a _plant_," Louis tries, kind of amazing me with the metaphor. "Well, what happens when you cut the root of a plant?"

And it was then when I became convinced and this is how I ended up in King's Cross station.

It's currently 12:50 and I find him standing in the middle of the 5 1/4 platform. His near-white hair is blowing in the wind and he's wearing the leather jacket we bought together, with a Slytherin scarf draped around his neck, and bloody hell, I have to catch my breath before I manage to move again. The memory of the same boy standing on platform 9 3/4, seven and a half years ago, vaguely comes to mind – Scorpius Malfoy, an eleven-year-old vision of angelic disguise, next to his parents with an infuriating smirk painted on his face. I muse briefly over how far we've come, and am rendered back in motion when the now eighteen-year-old Scorpius Malfoy finally turns his head and notices me.

At first he looks like he's been hit by a Bludger.

Then he really, _really_ smiles_, _making my heart do a sudden flip-flop.

"I figured," I say loudly, shrugging as if to say _what could I do?_, when he saunters over to me with that stupid, huge smile, "a few days of Paris wouldn't hurt, now would they?"

When he's face to face with me he doesn't waste his time on words, but immediately kisses me with such a fiery conviction that I know for sure, in my body, my mind, my instincts, my everything, that I couldn't have let him go even if I tried. This young man is impossible to get off my radar and out of my system. He is the blueprint of my feelings, the embodiment of logic and sentiment combined, my whirlwind and rollercoaster – and oh Merlin, the _best_ kisser in the world.

But then it hits me.

Then I remember that he deserves to know, finally, what I know, and stop feeling about himself what I felt about him for the past few months.

"Scorpius," I mumble against his lips, "you have to listen to me. It's important."

"Please don't ruin the mood by telling me your cat died or something," he replies, voice hoarse. He's so nearby I can count the darker specks in his otherwise even grey eyes.

"Crookshanks would probably survive an atomic bomb, so no," I shake my head and manage a little space between us, "it's about you. And Summer."

An instant worried expression reaches his face.

"You didn't sleep with her," I say calmly, never breaking eye-contact as I want to take in everything he does. "You said you missed me and passed out. That's what happened."

With a dropped jaw, he manages to bring out, "I – _what_?"

"Summer lied to you. Violetta bribed her into it," I tell him earnestly, taking his hands as if to prevent him from growing incredibly mad.

"She did?"

He's perplexed and I can feel the tremors waving over from him to me.

"She did," I confirm.

"That's – " He doesn't know what to say. "That's... all this suffering... we never had a _reason_ to split up?" He seems to unfreeze slowly. "Pinch me."

"Why?" I ask, puzzled.

"I want to know if I'm dreaming," he shakes his head, "I want to know if you're really standing here."

I cock an eyebrow. "Doesn't this feel real to you?"

And with that I stand on my tiptoes, lift my head back up and kiss him again, sensually and comfortingly, languidly and electrifying.

I missed him.

I missed him more than words could possibly describe.

"Did you kill her for me?" He asks eventually, his hands clasped behind my back now. "Preferably in a painful, torturing manner?"

"Almost," I crack a grin. "I presume there's always time after the break."

"I'm going to hex her so badly she's going to regret ever being born," he mutters darkly. "Maybe I should search some inspiration from the Huns or the Chinese. Or maybe I should just stick with the good old Cruciatus curse. I hear that's quite effective as well..."

"Yeah, I heard that too." Then I channel a somewhat more serious expression. "If you ever, _ever_ leave me like that again though," I squint my eyes, "I'll use it on _you_."

Because, honestly, it weren't Louis' pretty words that convinced me.

It was the fact that I was waiting to forgive him until I could forgive myself for doing so. I was waiting for the point where I could be with him again without disrespecting myself. Because I _would've_. I would've disrespected myself if I'd allowed myself to love him after the tricks he pulled on me. But isn't _this_ the point? Isn't _this_ where to let go?

"I'll leave you a note next time," he says, winking, but when he sees my threatening face, he shakes his head, "I promise to make an Unbreakable Vow with you to never do something like that ever again. In fact, I'll agree to do it on the tr – "

Then the whistle of the ticket inspector interrupts him.

"I don't have a ticket!" I gasp in horror.

Trust me to be so ungodly attentive on moments like these.

"Here's mine," he says quickly, taking his ticket from his pocket and giving it to me, "I'll take care of it. Get in and I'll see you in a second, alright?"

He gives me a brief peck on my cheek. I obey his wishes and step in the train with my charmed backpack. As most Wizarding trains look the same, the second wave of nostalgia washes over me when I walk through the passages, trying to find unoccupied seats. I eventually stumble upon a compartment that's empty, put down my luggage, and sit down on one of the soft couches. I open the red curtains and as I watch the passing landscape, drops start to scatter across the window.

It has started to rain.

It has started to _rain_.

An overwhelming euphoria comes over me, because it's as if even _mother nature_ wants to tell me that I'm not being an idiot for believing in us. For not being a total cynic like I have been. For venturing a new guess. For letting my emotions dominate once again. I almost start laughing, out of nowhere, in a strange fit of joy, but then I hear footsteps and Scorpius' head peeks around the corner, and a huge smirk forms upon his pretty boy features. His arms are folded loosely, he's leaning against the doorframe nonchalantly, and a few platinum strands of hair fall in front of his forehead.

"Well, if it isn't the oh so pretty Rose Weasley!"

This has to be déjà-vu.

Only this time, it _is_ the fun kind.

* * *

**THE END.**

That's it. I might re-write it, but I think I'll stick with this for a while.

DON'T FAVOURITE WITHOUT REVIEWING BECAUSE I WILL BE DEADLY ANNOYED WITH YOU.

**Love,  
**Josephine


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